


Dropout

by elscorcho



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Dubious Morality, Hero Worship, M/M, May/December Relationship, Romance, Slash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9193274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elscorcho/pseuds/elscorcho
Summary: "The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time." - Bertrand RusselThe prodigal son returns, and he's carrying a secret. Commander Riker is determined to find out what that is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a thorough backstory of Wesley’s misdeeds at the Academy, refer to Season 5: episode 19, “First Duty,” or read this synopsis: http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_First_Duty_(episode) 
> 
> Wesley is 19 in this story.

In the middle of the night, when travel activity was light-to-nonexistent and only one transporter room attended, a mysterious passenger, “Classified Earth Civilian” in the Captain’s briefing, quietly boarded the Starship Enterprise.

 

Chief Miles O’brien sipped at his third mug of coffee, locking on to the sleek Academy shuttlecraft that idled outside. Coordinates set, beam activated, a wobbling slip of a figure came into focus, and the technician leaned forward for a closer look, eager to know what all the secrecy was about.

 

His eyebrows arched in recognition as a pale, familiar face solidified, blinking under the brightly lit chamber panels.

 

“Well now! Mr. Crusher.” O’brien chuckled, watching the thin young man gingerly disembark, off the platform and into the room. 

 

“Thank you, sir.” Wesley’s voice sounded dull, but polite.

 

“Welcome back. Fine hour, though...what’s the occasion?-“

 

Fully materialized and standing beside him, Miles could spot the differences a year had made. An extra inch of handsome height, undone by slumped shoulders and a weary gait. Sharper, wiser features, darkened by lack of sleep and clouded by stress.

 

Wesley hoisted a bulging duffel bag over his shoulder with a weak grunt and his knees nearly buckled. Dutiful, discreet, O'brien skipped the pleasantries and moved on. 

 

“Ah, you must be knackered. We’ll catch up later. Will there be any other luggage?”

 

Wesley stiffened at the question and paused. He nodded, jaw clenching.

 

“I’ll have the lot sent to cargo transport.” Miles said. He clicked a few buttons, paged the appropriate staff. 

 

“Just a few minutes. You’ll be wanting to check in with the Captain first, I’d imagine.”

 

“Right.” Wesley mumbled. 

 

“Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Crusher. Stop over and see Molly sometime. She’s growing like a weed.”

 

“I will, Mr. O'brien. Thank you.”  

 

They shook hands. Wesley shuffled toward the nearest turbolift and O’brien refilled his coffee using the replicator. 

 

Blowing away curls of steam, he shook his head and smiled, sparing a thought for the troubled cadet. Lucky for him, those tumultuous days of being a teenager were long gone. Alone again, his thoughts trailed where they often did, to his infant daughter back home, slumbering innocently in her crib.

 

In a couple of years, he would be raising a teenage girl. 

 

Chest tightening uncomfortably, mouth grim, O’brien swirled his mug and considered the dark liquid. 

 

On second thought, maybe decaf would be easier on the old ticker.

 

~

 

The journey to the captain’s ready room felt unfamiliar. Too quiet, too dreary. Winding through echoing corridors, slumped against the the wall of the turbolift, Wesley yawned. He was exhausted.

 

Avoiding Picard would only worsen the situation, and expressing gratitude was the least he could do. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure  _ who _ he had to thank. In all likelihood, his mother was the linchpin, the only reason he wasn’t, at this very moment, unpacking his things into a guest room at his aunt’s house. 

 

The last time he’d seen, or spoken to Picard, they were surrounded by the bright greenery of the Academy courtyard. The Captain understood what was to come, the horror of losing his credits, the shame of facing peers who knew the extent of his cowardice and lies. His words were sobering, but hopeful. His knowingness brought calm and clarity to a bleak situation. 

 

But somewhere between rescheduling classes he’d already taken, and being spat on in the cafeteria while everyone jeered, that well of hope ran dry.

 

He was an adult, did not require a guardian and had no binding, legal right to be on the Enterprise, but Picard had final say, and here he stood, with his status as an Ensign undetermined and no idea how to repay the kindness. Hopefully, Picard would have an idea. He needed a purpose, and a plan, otherwise...he was nothing more than resource-sucking space debris.

 

Mercifully, no one Wesley knew was on bridge duty that night, or paid him any mind, as he wordlessly slipped across the room and knocked on the door to Picard’s office.

 

“Come.”

 

Wesley padded inside. Picard was at his desk, documents piled all around and multiple screens glowing, his fingers crooked around a piping glass of Earl Grey. 

 

It looked as though he was swamped and hardly needed a reason to stay up, which made Wesley question if his visit was expected, or required, at all.

 

“Mr. Crusher.” Picard’s tone was unreadable, his expression too brief to interpret before his attention was back to his desk.

 

“You made it safely aboard.” A sip. “Good.”

 

He closed one project, moved it out of the way, grabbed another screen and opened up a new one. 

 

“Thank you, Captain. And thank you for arranging this on such short notice…I appreciate it.” 

 

Wesley shifted from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. Of all the scenarios he’d envisioned, not one of them involved having to lead the conversation.

 

Now, in hindsight, it felt absurdly foolish not to have prepared for this likelihood. Wesley just assumed that Picard would leap at him with a barrage of directives. That this wasn’t the case, caused a peculiar sense of deflation, and shame for his own misplaced sense of importance.

 

“Do you require further contact with the transport shuttle? All of your belongings are on board?”

 

“No, sir. Mr. O’brien had everything taken care of.”

 

The captain nodded.

 

“I will notify them of our departure.”

 

“Ok.”

 

Wesley shifted, waited.

 

“Sir…”

 

Picard glanced up, expectant.

 

“Was there…I mean. Don’t you have any questions for me about….all this?”

 

Slowly, the captain put down the PADD he was working on, gave the boy his full attention. He paused, long and hard, before carefully responding.

 

“The circumstances are unfortunate.” He stated, plainly. “I knew the challenges you would face, and gave you what advice I had. If there were additional factors involved, you are welcome to share them. Otherwise, Mr. Crusher, I believe I know all there is to know.”

 

Wesley exhaled a long, pent up breath. Unfortunately, it came out in a quiet, half-sob. Picard sighed and rubbed his scalp.

 

“Get some sleep.”  His voice was measured, but not unkind, and he sounded more frustrated with his own lack of words than Wesley’s presence. 

 

“Nothing more can be done. Not right now.”

 

Wesley held back another embarrassing sound, swallowing it instead.

 

“Yes, sir.” He said. “Thank you, sir.”

 

~

 

Wesley claimed the rest of his belongings, carting them back to the quarters he shared with his mother. He wheeled the baggage just inside the door, no further, quietly, when he saw that Beverly was curled up on the couch, asleep in her physician’s uniform. 

 

“I’ll meet you in the transporter room. Love you.” Had been her last message.

 

But the shuttle came hours behind schedule, and exhaustion got the best of her. Tired as he was, Wesley was thankful for the delay. His meeting with Picard hadn’t been a very promising homecoming and he was ready to call it a day.

 

Wesley found a wooly blanket and lightly tossed it over Beverly. She did not stir. He smiled, yawned, and headed into his room, wondering how viable it would be to spend the rest of his life in there.

 

Only three people aboard the Enterprise knew about his resignation, the three most important people in his life. Their reactions were all very different. He hoped that at least one of them had the answer, hedging his bets on one in particular. 

 

Picard had dropped out early in the race. Maybe he cared, under the facade of guarded disinterest, and would sprint out at the end. But Wesley knew better than to hold his breath for that.

 

Action, and tough love would not come from his mother. Beverly had done nothing but cry, reassure her son that everything would be alright, and repeat, like a mantra, how blessed she was to have him home in one piece. It wasn’t surprising, she’d been through a lot. Her husband had been killed in the line of duty, and Wesley, an inch away from joining him. He would always be her little boy, a victim of circumstance, too naïve to have known any better. 

 

The third person who knew was Commander William T. Riker, Wesley’s far-too-handsome mentor and friend. The power dynamic between them had been maturing, expanding, little cracks forming, both on the Enterprise and off, during the school year. 

 

Riker was displeased, and burning with questions, it was clear, but hadn’t played the authority card just yet, because that no longer worked anymore. It was a tactical move, meant to disarm and earn Wesley’s trust, a thinly veiled Plan A to get him to talk, with a more assertive Plan B that was sure to follow sometime in the coming days.

 

It was a fitting summary of their relationship, a dangerous tango in that murky space where cold professionalism ended and friendship started to warm and blossom. The older Wesley got, the further he tiptoed and tested the boundaries. Riker hadn’t seemed to notice, or maybe he did. Maybe he thought that was how mentoring was supposed to evolve as a child grew into an adult. 

 

Maybe it was how Riker was with everyone, charming and attentive, and Wesley was ridiculous for thinking he was special in any way.

 

Months at the Academy, making terrible decisions,  _ illuminating _ decisions, about to go home to virtually nothing, had left Wesley feeling bold, reckless, and ready to find out. 

 

_ Starfleet Academy, 5 days prior…. _

 

Wesley was in the middle of packing, when a message came through on his personal computer. Seeing who it was from, and needing a break, he spread out on a sofa and relaxed his stressed muscles, held out the communication PADD in one hand, the other arm crossed behind his neck. Greetings were exchanged, but Commander Riker was shrewd in getting to the topic at hand.

 

“I think you should leave your going-away present there.” 

 

“Your pr….oh.” Wesley sighed. Riker was referring to the set of pips that he’d first earned as a young lieutenant, as well as his old cadet combadge, tucked in a velvet-lined box, currently nestled between folded clothing in his duffel bag. 

 

“No sense packing it up.” Riker explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “since you’re coming back to the Academy anyway, why risk losing them in transport? They’re antiques, you know.” 

 

“Ancient.” Wesley agreed. “Should be displayed in a museum. Honestly, the real risk is keeping them here.”

 

“Smart ass.” Riker said. “Remember what I told you?” 

 

“You’re going to have to be specific, Commander.” 

 

“I said, if you were still set on leaving by now, I’d have to resort to drastic measures...”

 

Wesley itched his nose and yawned. “Okay.”

 

“I wasn’t bluffing. I’m dropping everything to stay at the Academy. I’ll walk you to class and phaser anyone who teases you. Then it’s straight to the library to finish your assignments. Every night, I’ll tuck you into bed with a glass of warm milk-”

 

“Go for it.”

 

“You don’t think I’m serious? I know a little something about digging myself out of trouble. How do you think a dunce like me managed to graduate seventh in his class?” 

 

“Eighth.” 

 

Wesley hoped the camera didn’t pick up his fierce blush. Riker’s smile was too much, and his proposal, though made in jest, made his stomach flutter uncontrollably. This felt like flirting, and something about the barrier of technology made it easier to pretend there was something more between them, let him climb into a reality where this was a chat between a couple in a long-distance relationship.

 

“Anyway, I’ve heard the stories about what you were like at the Academy and I’ve broken  _ enough _ rules.” Wesley baited.

 

“What stories?”

 

“Nothing I’d be comfortable repeating.” Wesley drawled, innocently.

 

“If you still want to leave the Academy, you aren’t hearing the  _ right _ stories.” Riker said. “The stuff I got up to would curl your toes, cadet. Make you want to stay there  _ forever,  _ trust me..” 

 

“Sounds interesting. Maybe I can be persuaded …” Wesley grinned, settling in. 

 

“Well..” 

 

Suddenly, Riker’s communicator went off.

 

“Number One.” It was Picard. “You’re needed on the bridge.”

 

“Acknowledged.”

 

Wesley smile fell. He sat up, face glum. 

 

“You heard the Captain.” Riker said, knowingly. “Put away that pout, it doesn’t work on me.”

 

“Will you bug me later?”

 

“Tonight, if I can.”

 

Riker signed off, leaving Wesley to his thoughts. To his steadily emptying dorm room, his ricocheting hormones, his confusion. 

 

“It’s a date, Commander…” Wesley finished, to himself.

  
He tripled-checked on the velvet box with Riker’s gift inside, very much in his carry-on bag and very much going with him, and resumed his packing and moping. 


	2. Chapter 2

Wesley’s sleep that first night back on the Enterprise was fitful and disturbed. 

Since boyhood, his sweetest dreams had been about the Academy, making his family proud, and his enemies seethe with jealousy. After a terrible day at school, usually on the playground where bigger, dumber boys would torment him, he’d summon images of the glittering Golden Gate Bridge, and drift off to daring missions on other worlds, the exciting life that lay ahead of him in Starfleet, the life he was destined to have.

When he came aboard the Enterprise at 15, Wesley found a purpose on the bridge, and those goals were drawing closer by the day. If fantasies about the Academy weren’t doing the trick, plots recycled so many times after so many years, he could ease himself to sleep by replaying adventures with his crewmates. 

Around the age of 17...maybe 16...these dreams increasingly featured Commander Riker, heaps of praise, passionate confessions, and more. 

A lot more.

But everything was turning to dust. He’d had a chance at a bright future and blew it. His past looked different, now. Like a puzzle that had been missing it’s final pieces and now the finished and grotesque landscape of his life was laid out to see. There wasn’t a scrap of light to cling to anymore, no more childish lies to nibble on before bed. 

And as for Commander Riker, the attention he was getting from him lately was plentiful, but not the kind he really wanted, far too fatherly and scolding, fixated on his career and studies.

The last thing he remembered dreaming about was a Nova Squadron plane, engulfed in fire, spiraling through the rings of Saturn. An ear-piercing scream split through the grind of failing engines...the icy disgust of Commander Riker’s eyes flashed before him and then...

Wesley woke with a start, breathing heavily, covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat  
.  
He sat up, and Beverly was there in an instant, soothing his face and his hair.

“Wesley,” she gentled. “It’s okay.”

“Mom.” Wesley swallowed. “I’m sor-“

“Shh.” Beverly hushed him with a glass of water against his lips. “Here.” Wesley took a long, relishing drink, dousing the fire in his throat, the fire in his mind. 

“Mom.” He said, breathless. “Sorry, I got in really late…”

“That’s alright.” Beverly reassured. “It’s wonderful to see you.” She kissed his colorless cheek. 

Her face fell, realizing what that statement implied. 

“I mean…well no, I do mean it. I’m sorry. I missed you.”

She embraced her son tightly, and Wesley fell into it, allowing himself the comfort, though he felt like he didn’t deserve her understanding.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just know that I love you, and nothing will change that.” She hugged him again, running hands up and down his arms. She scrutinized his frame and tutted.

“Look at you. Have you lost weight?”

“I don’t think so.” Wesley pulled away with a forced smile, anxiety swirling in his gut. “Let’s have breakfast?” He suggested, not hungry in the least.

Beverly nodded. “Anything you want. Though, you should know, it’s nearly lunch time now,” she poked him in the side. “Sleepyhead.”

Wesley spent the rest of the morning being hugged and fretted over, unpacking and setting up his living space the way it had been before he left. Looking around, he wished that everything was as unchanged as this room was, if only he could do to the same to the rest of his life, move and position elements around to suit his comfort.

Beverly suggested that Wesley spend some time with her at work, rather than mope around alone and he agreed, feeling that he could at least be useful in sickbay. Though, her motives were transparent. Assisting in medical was a reminder that another family career path was there, if he wanted it, one that did not involve zipping around in fighter planes or being armed on the front lines.

And likely, she was going to weigh him at some point, examine him, surreptitiously or not. He made sure to eat more than he thought he could stomach, to try and ease some of her concerns. 

Wesley knew he wasn’t well, and hadn’t been for awhile, a condition that accelerated once he decided to leave school. But it wasn’t bacterial or from injuries sustained. It wasn’t contagious, though some might argue it was. It was all in his heart and in his head, and sickbay did not have the answers. His mother, the doctor, did not. Nor the ships all-knowing Captain.

Only one person on this ship might, but Wesley wasn’t ready to see him just yet.

Unsure of what was appropriate for him to wear, certainly not his cadet jumpsuit or ensign jacket, Wesley opted for a tight fitting, light blue sweater and grey slacks. It was odd, seeing himself in civilian clothes, in all his tall, reedy nineteen years. Since he held rank four years ago, he never left his quarters out of uniform, and once at the Academy, never without school-issued wear. 

Belatedly, he wondered if that choice had contributed to the chasm between him and his peers aboard the Enterprise, a missing adaptation that followed him to school and caused him to wither under peer pressure. If things had been different, if he’d known how to communicate with crewmates and authority much closer to his age, hadn’t convinced himself he was more than, above, maybe that humility would have prevented disaster, and none of this would be happening right now.

En route to sickbay, Beverly and Wesley ran into another person he was very fond of, but didn’t particularly want to see, Deanna Troi. 

“Wesley.” She greeted him with a warm smile and a hug, and Wesley tossed up barriers to block her empathic abilities. She didn’t appear surprised to see him, so either word had spread very quickly, or Beverly had not been able to keep the news to herself. Wesley was betting on the latter.

“He’s so thin, Beverly.” Deanna observed, and Beverly nodded, gravely.

“I made sure he ate this morning, though it wasn’t very much…”

Wasn’t very much??? Wesley thought, still feeling nauseas. 

Deanna got right to the point, it was one of her better qualities, if you weren’t on the receiving end of it.

“I can sense that you are feeling lost and overwhelmed, Wesley. If you need someone to talk to, please come see me.” She tried to make it sound casual. 

“There’s no shame in it. None at all.” His mother added her thoughts, and her hand on his arm, and Wesley felt surrounded. He nodded mutely. 

“It’s been far too long since we’ve had a session. Just to catch up would be nice, don’t you think?”

Wesley felt hot in the face. “I’ll think about it, counselor. Thank you.”

He felt rude, and insincere. He wouldn’t be going to see her. Troi was kind, and genuinely wanted to help, but she was also the ex-girlfriend of Commander Riker. It was too complicated. She would see too much and know too much if she started doing...whatever it was she did, during a session. Wesley had always pictured the process, this mental probing, as the throwing back of multiple, layered curtains, to reveal a stage and all it’s players. At any given time, the starring roles on Wesley’s stage were himself and Riker, front and center and impossible to miss. 

“Well, Beverly,” Deanna said, “I hate to take away your special helper-“

Wesley felt like sinking directly into the floor. So much for feeling like actual, competent assistance in sickbay.

“-but I’m under orders from Commander Riker. He’d like to meet with you as soon as possible.”

Wondering why Commander Riker didn’t just ask him directly, Wesley realized why, and his ego shriveled. It was jarring, and significant, the reminder that he no longer had a communicator badge assigned to him, the first of many more humiliating, identity-stripping changes that were sure to come.

Misreading his response as a frightened one, Deanna clarified, gently.

“He just wants to talk. Something your mother and I would force you to do if we had the authority.”

Just wants to talk.

Not if Wesley had anything to say about it. He knew it was emotionally and mathematically foolish to put all his eggs in one basket like this, expect Commander Riker to have all the answers. But in a strange way, he couldn’t think of a better position to be in, being in need of rescue and salvation, brought so low and so helpless, to find out if the man felt him worth it. Felt even half as strongly in return. 

Admittedly? A fifth of that affection would satisfy him for a lifetime. 

~

Wesley paced outside Commander Riker’s room for a good while, fussing with his hair and the hem of his sweater before announcing his arrival.

“It’s Wesley.” His voice sounded weaker than he wanted it to. The last thing he needed was another person tiptoeing around him like a layer of ice about to crack. Especially Commander Riker.

He cleared his throat, more determined this time. “You wanted to see me.”

“Come on in, Wes.” Riker’s voice rumbled, smooth and inviting in a way that PADD conversations could never quite capture. He’d missed that voice. It sent a pleasant thrill down his spine, but the statement that followed made his stomach plunge.

“I just made some food.”

“Made?” Wesley grimaced, tentatively stepping through the threshold. “As in…”

With a genuine note of surprise, he took in the hearty aroma of warm, roasted vegetables, feeling skeptical.  
.   
“Cooked, yes. Don’t look so scared.” Riker approached him, looking strong, healthy, handsome. As usual.

Wesley, by comparison, felt frail, sick. Out of place, in this room that was usually reserved for special visitors, beautiful people, chosen ones. 

Recoiling nervously, he recalled the senior officer’s previous attempts at cooking, among them a grayish puddle of chicken and the greasiest mess of shepherd’s pie ever to exist. At the doubtful little crinkle of Wesley’s button nose, Riker laughed, standing over the cowering young man with a steaming, menacing forkful. 

“Just for that, you’re my guinea pig.”

“What is it though?”

“Ratatouille.” 

“French.” Wesley observed. “Trying to impress Picard?”

Will held out the portion, insistent. “Stop stalling and eat. That’s an order.”

“Okay, but you know I could report this as an abuse of power…” Wesley took the utensil and lifted it to his mouth. The ratatouille was delicious and comforting, really divine. It melted on his tongue and warmed him from head to toe. He hadn’t felt the stirrings of an appetite in weeks, but this really hit the spot.

Chewing thoughtfully, he swallowed. “Wow.” he declared, sounding slightly depressed by the discovery. “There is nothing you can’t do, huh?.”

Riker shrugged. “It’s easy to think that. But it took many, many failed dishes for me to get to this point. You know -” 

“I see where you’re going with this, Commander.” Wesley broke in. And Riker’s face fell, brows furrowed, displeased by the interruption.

“I mean…mistakes.” Wesley gestured absently. “I get it.”

Riker stared at him, his face darkening. “You don’t like my cooking analogy?”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir,” Wesley stepped toward the small dining table, plunging his fork in and holding up the morsel.

“Stick to actual food.”

“Okay...your way.” Riker moved in close, getting in Wesley’s space and startling the younger man. He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“No riddles, no bedtime stories. You’re all grown up now? You tell me why the hell you’re here and not at the Academy where you belong.” 

Wesley swallowed a bite of food, blinked, opened his mouth to speak, or squawk, or whatever startled noise was likely to blurt out of his throat, but Riker wasn’t done with him.

“And spare me the bullshit about your credits or your classmates. I’ve already heard it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information on Riker's early years in Starfleet was taken directly from episode 12, season 7: "The Pegasus."

Riker hadn’t sounded angry throughout their frequent communication this week, and though he knew the Commander would be more direct in person, Wesley was thrown by this shift in tone. 

 

“I’m sorry? Those reasons aren’t good enough for you?” Wesley volleyed, taken back by his own defensiveness. 

 

“For  _ me _ ? No, those reasons aren’t good enough for  _ you _ , Wes. I refuse to believe it. I checked your transcripts yesterday. Incompletes? That isn’t you.”

 

Now, his blood was hammering. That explained Riker’s anger quadrupling overnight.  _ He’d gone through his records.  _

 

Something instinctual and fear-based took control. Wesley straightened to his fullest height, annoyed by their difference in size. “Well...so what? Picard knew my grades. And he didn’t see a reason to …. _ interrogate _ me like this.” 

 

“With all due respect to the Captain, I know you better. A _ lot  _ better.” Riker wouldn’t budge. ”You worked too hard and you’re too damn smart to let something so trivial take down your entire career.”

 

“I guess maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” Wesley shouted. His hazel eyes were wide, wild.

 

“You’re not doing yourself any favors, acting like this...” Riker growled. “But the more I listen to you, the more I’m absolutely convinced you aren’t telling the whole truth.”

 

The young man stood, resolute, fists clenched at his sides.  He didn’t know why he was being like this, either, and it was true that the only thing he’d earn from it was Riker doubling-down. 

 

Wasn’t this what he wanted? One of his mentors to confront him, scream at him? But something wasn’t right. Riker was supposed to  _ tell _ him what to do, not doubt his reasons for leaving and wring a confession from his throat.

 

“You’re not yourself. All bark, like a cornered animal.” Riker reached out and gripped Wesley’s slight shoulders, lifting his heels off the ground.  “I know what fear looks like.  _ Tell me why you’re afraid _ .”

 

“Is that another order,  _ Commander _ ?” Wesley snapped, but his eyes, glistening and wet, the bone-deep tremble of his body, betrayed his resolve. Riker had many years of tactical experience under his belt, and a simple stare was enough to disarm. And though his upper body was unforgiving, demanding steel right now, Wesley knew how safe and secure his arms were capable of being, and that was the Riker he wanted, not this. The façade crumbled away and Wesley sobbed, fully, giving in to the exhaustion and guilt. 

 

“Goddammit, Wesley.” Riker found the back of Wesley’s neck in one large hand, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You’re just a kid who made a stupid mistake… I see what you’re doing to yourself. As your Commanding officer, I’m not letting you leave this room until we’ve sorted this out.”  He felt a shudder wrack through Wesley’s slender frame.

 

“There’s a story I really think you should hear.”

 

Wesley nodded, and rubbed at his eyes. With a warm hand against the small of his back, Riker lead him to a plush couch on the far side of the room.

 

Wesley’s head was swimming with disbelief, horror and a hazy sense of surrealness. Had he really spoken to the Commander that way? He was still so tired. Had barely slept. He wanted to apologize, wanted to say a lot of things, maybe everything, maybe nothing.  

 

“I thought you said no stories.” Wesley pointed out, his voice groggy and defeated. He was testing Riker’s mood. 

 

“Why fix what isn’t broken?” The older man grinned back, eyes sparkling. “My stories always help, don’t they?” 

 

Wesley shrugged, noncommittally.  “I dunno.I’m pretty broken.”

 

“Come here.” Riker gave Wesley’s arm a gentle tug, urging him closer.

 

“When I was your age..” Riker began, and Wesley raised a highly incredulous brow.

 

“Maybe a visual.” He decided. “Wait here.” He patted Wesley’s thigh and got up to retrieve something. 

 

When Riker returned, they were sitting even closer than before, their sides brushing together. Wesley reached out, ran a finger across the Starfleet embossed, leathery surface of the heavy book Riker thrust into his lap. A yearbook.

 

“They still make these?”

 

“Sentimental value. You’ll understand when you’re older.” Riker cracked open the pages and flipped, until he reached the picture he was looking for. 

 

“Is that...you?.” Wesley squinted. “Why are these pictures so tiny…” He wondered aloud, but then the greater question came. “Why are there  _ so many students _ ?” 

 

Wesley could hardly comprehend the number of cadets, mostly humanoid, at a glance, less diverse than he’d observed on campus. Attendance was nothing like that now. Even he, a straight A student and capable of Ensign duty at 15, had failed his first exam attempt. One had to be better than perfect. 

 

Riker seemed amused by Wesley’s astonishment.  “Something, isn’t? The Academy needed a record number of new recruits.”

 

“Well...that doesn’t seem fair.” The young man couldn’t help but say.

 

“It was the political climate at the time. War. Instability. There’s a lot less competition when everyone is dead, or busy rebuilding.”

 

“Oh..right. ” Wesley realized. Every coin had another side. 

 

“So I got in. Worked hard to get there, don’t get me wrong. But would I have made the cut any other year? Would the grading curve have been so forgiving? I’m not sure. The downside to all this was, I didn’t feel very prepared by the time I had graduated. I felt...phony? Like I hadn’t been tested as rigorously as I should have been.”

 

Wesley shifted. “I’m...sorry, Commander.”

 

He shrugged. “Why do you think I’m telling you this?”

 

“I’m not entirely sure.”  Wesley rubbed the side of his neck. 

 

“I left the Academy very uncertain, very desperate to prove my abilities. I was vulnerable and willing to obey any command….sound familiar?”

 

Wesley’s face grew warm. He stared as his hands and nodded, stomach flipping and that flight response threatening to kick into gear again. 

 

Why did Riker have to make it sound so… _ indecent. _

 

“I was stationed on the Pegasus as a first year ensign,” Riker continued. “I’ll never forget the moment I boarded. I felt like a man. More than that. I felt invincible.” He paused. 

 

“For all of twenty minutes. Then I was given my nickname.” 

 

Wesley listened, expectant. Riker released a long, suffering sigh. 

 

“Ensign Babyface.” 

 

A giggle bubbled up from Wesley’s throat. He bit his lip in a useless attempt to cover up his mirth and muttered out a half-hearted “Sorry.”

 

“You think that’s funny?” Riker grinned. “Wait til you get out there. If I was Babyface, I can’t imagine what that would make  _ you _ .”

 

He tapped Wesley’s pert nose, igniting a rather becoming flush of pink across his cheeks. Wesley hardly had time to examine what that comment meant, using the full spectrum of the scientific process, as Riker forged ahead with his tale.

 

“I was determined to show my dedication to Starfleet, prove that I deserved to be there and wasn’t just a pretty face.” He grinned, right at Wesley, and gave him a meaningful nudge. 

 

Wesley had no doubt what  _ that _ meant, no over thinking needed. His blush deepened out to his ears and his feet.

 

“This isn’t motivating.” He griped, making a face. 

 

“Who said anything about motivation?” Riker clarified. “I’m trying to undo years of being spoonfed this perfect idea of what Starfleet is.”

 

“I _ don’t _ think Starfleet is perfect.” Wesley corrected. “That’s why I left.”

 

“But you quit before the lesson was over.” Riker said. “So you learned that authority figures aren’t infallible and total obedience can get you in a different kind of trouble. You learned that the hard way, just like I did. But I grew from my mistakes, and you’re denying yourself that same opportunity by not sticking it out.”

 

Curious, the young man waited for him to elaborate.

 

“The captain of the Pegasus is now serving as Admiral, so, needless to say...he’s doing alright for himself. And I suffered no consequence for my actions, either. I know what you’re thinking...what kind of comparison is this? I’d argue that it’s a fair one, because more than one life was lost in this story. Almost an entire crew died. My punishment was not carried out in public, like yours, I’ll give you that. Sometimes I wish I had, as crazy as that must sound. Getting off scot-free compounds the guilt, in a way.” 

 

Wesley’s eyed widened and his mouth fell open. 

 

“An entire  _ crew _ ? But how? What happened?”

 

Riker held up a palm. “Classified information.” And Wesley turned petulant at that, making a mental note to dig the dirt up later.

 

“All you need to know is that the captain believed it was a necessary thing to do, and that was reason enough for me. I didn’t spare a second to ask if I should. I just did. I still question if he made the right call that day, if all of those people really had to die. I even question if the man is fit to hold rank at all - and that  _ doesn’t  _ leave this room, is that clear?.” He added sternly, and Wesley nodded, vigorously.

 

“There wasn’t much else I could have done. I was a lowly, first year ensign. Babyface. Underprepared, naive, and scared out of my mind.”

 

He gave Wesley a meaningful look. “But I took that horrible experience and used it to help guide the decisions I make as a leader, as someone who  _ does _ have control over what happens to others. You can’t erase the past, but it’s your job as a young officer to shape the universe and improve the system, starting with yourself. No one ever said that progress was easy.”

 

“And don’t forget,” Riker added, “There’s a reason why Nick Locarno was expelled and you were allowed to stay. What happened reflected on your lack of experience and judgement, not your overall character. And that’s why you have to stop torturing yourself over this, Wes. Do you understand, now?” 

 

Wesley nodded, acquiescent. “I do, Commander.” He chose his words carefully, wanting to avoid sounding too casual, too easily “fixed.” Riker would never buy that sort of response.

 

“You’ve given me a lot to think about.” He worried at his lip, looking up from beneath his lashes. “It’s been...hard. But it’s nice to have someone who understands.” 

 

Wesley sighed, smiling weakly. “Thank you, Commander. I feel a lot better. I really do.”

 

“Good. That’s good.” Riker said, watching the young man closely.  “Where are you going?” He asked, as Wesley stretched out of his sitting position and made to get up. 

 

“...um...getting some food?”

 

“Not yet. We aren’t finished.” 

 

“Oh…” Wesley sat down again, nervous.

 

“When I said that I looked at your transcripts, I really meant it. I had Data run them through a decryption process. I was able to see all the changes made to your grades. Every submission, every deletion.”

 

Wesley couldn’t say a word. He was frozen by this admission, terrified.

 

What did they call it? The end of the road. This was it.

 

The long pause that followed was unbearable. .

 

“There were the marks for your first two semesters…perfect, of course. After the trial, those scores were purged and you had to start over.”

 

Wesley flinched. He remembered that day and a queasy roll of shame washed over him. Riker watched him closely, gauging his reactions.

 

“You struggled. Mostly C’s, I even saw a D in there. But they improved, steadily, you even reached a few B’s. Then…” He leaned forward, eyes penetrating. Wesley swallowed, wringing the life out of a cushion at his side.

 

“- out of the blue...straight A’s. Even stranger, about a week later…incompletes, across the board. And now you’re here and the only thing the Academy has to say is that you voluntarily withdrew. If things were so terrible, why did you have straight A’s? Why on Earth would you leave with marks like that?”

 

Wesley shrugged. 

 

“I don’t want to believe it, but the only conceivable thing I can manage...” Riker said, with an angry sort of calm that shook the former cadet. “Is that you hacked into the Academy’s mainframe.”

 

“No!” Wesley cried.

 

“Come on, Wes, that’s  _ child’s play _ compared to the things I’ve seen you do on the Enterprise. But then you lost the nerve, realized what you’d done, tried to change it back....”

 

“That’s not what happened!”

 

“Then tell me the truth, Crusher. Or you can stand on trial again when I present the Dean with this evidence. It’s up to you.”

 

Wesley could tell this was not an idle threat. And it was true, the Academy would find out if motivated to investigate. Realizing the futility of the situation, he looked away, pinching his eyes shut. 

 

“I didn’t change them.” He muttered, defeated. “A professor did.” 

 

Riker’s brows knit together, and Wesley went on to clarify. 

 

“The head of the engineering department, my academic advisor.”

 

Riker knew him. Mark Roberts, an accomplished Helmsman in his early career and quickly making a name for himself in academia. 

 

They’d crossed paths at several points, as a matter of course, Riker being three or four graduating years behind the man, involved in many of the same athletic extracurriculars and headed on a similar trajectory. He was a serious, private, structured sort of guy, who always let you know how educated he was. A formidable resume, accolades to spare. From what Riker had heard, his sudden switch to teaching was made after an accident on the job, a rather grievous one that claimed his right leg forced him into an early retirement from mission work. He’d made it as far as Lieutenant Commander. 

 

Riker always found him to be an arrogant son of a bitch, truth be told.

 

“I slept with him to get better grades.” Wesley said. 

 

His voice was flat, troublingly devoid of emotion.

 

“Can I go now.”


	4. Chapter 4

Riker immediately latched onto Wesley’s arm, growling dangerously low.

 

“Are you being smart with me?”

 

Wesley pulled himself away with a little snarl of his own, retreating to the other side of the room, hovering near the door. He very easily could have slipped out, but hesitated, frightened to hear Riker’s response, but more frightened to leave with that lurid  admission hanging in the air. 

 

“I won’t say anything. To anyone.” Riker promised, his words slow and meaningful, realizing that one wrong move or word could send Wesley running so far, he’d never find him again. Wesley knew how to fly a shuttlecraft and The Universe was a very big place.

 

Wesley took a great, shuddering breath, visibly struggling not to swoon right there on his feet. He stared at the ground for a moment, gathering his wits. When he looked up, the boy’s face was beautifully earnest and soft, all evidence of resistance wiped away.

 

“Can we talk later?” He pleaded. “I need to think. Sleep. I need...to not be here anymore.” 

 

Riker lifted himself from the sofa, palms out in a gesture of peace. “That’s fine.” He said. “Just wait one second.”

 

Wesley watched, as Riker heaped a portion of dinner into a plastic container. 

 

“Add eating to that list and we have a deal, okay?” 

 

He handed Wesley the meal, giving his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Tomorrow afternoon, wherever you want.” 

 

“Ten Forward, I guess.”

 

He left. A very different Wesley Crusher than the one who had shuffled quietly into his quarters. The young man he thought needed a simple lecture on peer pressure and youthful indiscretions. 

 

But this...  _ was _ there a lecture for this?

 

Riker cursed himself, hoping that Wesley trusted him enough to open up. It all made sense now. The changes in his behavior were obvious signs of mistreatment. It took every ounce of his willpower not to shuttle over to the academy and beat the snot out of Professor Roberts, but knowing that Wesley would be horrified by that, and lose all the trust he had in the senior advisor, Riker kept his temper at bay, focusing his energy, instead, on what he needed to do to help the young man through this.

 

~

 

It was well past noon when Wesley finally rolled out of bed, feeling lethargic and unrested again. He showered, dressed in another civilian sweater and slacks combination that he hoped looked marginally put-together (uniforms made everything  _ so _ much easier) and padded into the living area, where Beverly was hastily finishing a cup of tea, pulling on her outer jacket with her free hand.

 

“Hi, sweetie. Just on my way out,” she explained, handing Wesley the cup so she could slip her other arm through. “Fourteen hour shift today.” 

 

Wesley nodded, watching her smooth her uniform and hair in a nearby mirror. “Is there anything you’d like me to do?” He asked. 

 

Beverly smiled, cupping his cheek and petting it with her thumb. “Not today, Wesley. I want you to take care of yourself, do something fun, something just for you. Maybe go to the holodeck-” 

 

Beverly’s communicator blipped with an incoming message. “Dr. Crusher, come in.”

 

“Yes?” She responded, gesturing for Wesley to give her back the tea.

 

“It’s Will. Is your son nearby?” 

 

“He is.” And Wesley swallowed, reflexively. “A little disheveled and sleepy, but I think it’s him.” 

 

“Please let him know that I’ll be about a half hour late for our meeting this afternoon. He’ll know what I mean.” 

 

“Certainly, Commander.”

 

“Thank you. Riker, out.”

 

“Well,” Beverly said, delighted. “Looks like you already have plans.”

 

“Just talking some stuff out.” Wesley shrugged. “You know how the Commander is.” 

 

“I think it’s wonderful,” she said, trying to contain her emotions. “Listen to his advice. You’re very lucky to have someone like Commander Riker who cares for you so much.”

 

“I know.” Wesley mumbled. 

 

“I’ll want to hear all about it tomorrow. One day at a time, okay? I love you.” Beverly finished her tea and kissed him goodbye. 

 

~

 

Wesley made himself comfortable in a tucked-away booth in the Ten Forward lounge. He was earlier than necessary, partly because it was in his nature to be prompt but also he was bored and had nothing else to do. People watching, and nursing his second mixed drink (real alcohol courtesy of Guinan) seemed a fine enough activity. 

 

It was strange, how many people Wesley didn’t recognise, what a difference a year could make. Riker was certainly right about the unpredictable ebb and flow of things.

 

Riker was also right about being late. Actually, judging by the amount of people Wesley watched come and go, he was very late. More patrons were beginning to fill the seating area, louder people, more excited people: the after-work drink crowd.

 

Guinan came around to check on Wesley, a small offering of toasted almond cookies in her hand. 

 

“You looked hungry.” 

 

“Actually,” Wesley tried to sound casual, swirling the straw around in his empty glass. “I’m still kind of  _ thirsty _ .” He gave his best doe eyes for that extra punch. 

 

Guinan made an unconvinced humming noise in her throat, reclaiming the glass and sliding him a fresh one, filled with water. “It’s getting too busy for me to keep my eye on you. Eat your cookies.” She winked, turning to attend to the growing crowd of people. 

 

Wesley slouched grumpily into his seat. The two glasses of alcohol he’d imbibed were helping to numb his anxiety and make this terrible wait easier on his nerves.

 

Soon, he’d have to tell Riker  _ everything _ . 

 

Alarmed that he was beginning to sober up and face all of this with a lucid brain, Wesley began to shovel cookies into his mouth, for the distraction alone was better than nothing. The water remained untouched. 

 

“Those look good. Where can I get some?” A voice to the right of Wesley’s shoulder, belonging to a handsome young man, who wasn’t looking at the cookies at all, but at him. 

 

Wesley spared him a quick glance, cool as can be, then calmly returned to his plate. 

 

“You can’t.” He said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

 

“Aww...why not?” The young man leaned closer, employing what had to have been his most charming smile. 

 

“Only people at this table get to have them.” Wesley took a relishing bite, teasing. “It’s a special table.” 

 

“Well then,” the stranger replied, “May I join you? What kind of drink goes good with cookies, I’ll get you one.”

 

Wesley faced him to get a closer look, and yes, he was very good looking, well built, confident. His type.  

 

“Ok.” He agreed. “Something...creamy. And strong.”

 

“Coming right up.” The man said, his voice deep, a little out of practice, but charming nonetheless. 

 

The drink that he returned with was large, decadent and indeed, paired very well with the sweet, buttery snacks. But Wesley was no longer interested in those. 

 

“My name’s Chad.” 

 

“Wesley. Mmm...this is really good.” Now we’re back in business, thought Wesley, feeling the world soften around him, his limbs tingle. “Are you new on the Enterprise?”

 

“Not really.” Chad didn’t touch his drink, too interested in watching his new companion. “I’ve been here since the end of last summer. I’m a third year Ensign.”

 

Wesley tilted his head, resting it on his hand, a slow, lazy smile stretching across his full lips. If this were any other time, this subject would have sent him running, maybe heaving. But right now, he found it all very amusing.

 

“Hmm…” He laughed, softly. ”I wouldn’t know anything about that.” 

“Oh?” Said Chad, intrigued. “No Starfleet path for you? Just here to make the ship look prettier?”

 

Wesley laughed again, meeting his stare. “I guess you could say that.” Another drink. “Just a Starfleet brat. My mom is a senior officer.”

 

“Well, you’re not missing out on much. I never have time for anything.”

 

“Anything?” Wesley pouted. 

 

“Well…” Chad considered. “I make the time, when I need to.”

 

“Not too busy to chat?” Wesley breathed, feeling lightheaded, but conscious enough to know where this was going, and willing to follow through. 

 

“Not at all.” Chad responded, his eyes piercing and cool, familiar. 

 

A metallic glint caught Wesley’s attention; one open pip and one closed, the insignia pinned to Chad’s collar indicating his station of lieutenant junior grade. The rank that Wesley would have been a few years out of the academy. Sooner, actually, considering he’d already completed nearly a year of ensign service. The painful reminder threatened to pop his bubble of careless intoxication. 

 

Chad stared at Wesley, openly, shaking his head. “Can’t believe we’ve never crossed paths….I guess it doesn’t surprise me though. The third year is an absolute nightmare, they never let me out of Engineering.”

 

“Engineering. Really.” Wesley said. 

 

“Right now we’re working on isolating unpredictable components within warp coils, like Tritanic initiators. But I won’t bore you with the details.”

 

“I think you mean Trionic initiators.” Wesley corrected, catching himself. He didn’t like this conversation. But he did like Chad. Liked how he looked and sounded, anyway.

 

“I mean...I think that’s what they’re called. My ex boyfriend was an engineering major.” 

 

Chad leaned forward, interested. “He must not have been very smart, to let you go.” 

 

“They’ll let anyone into Starfleet these days.” Wesley considered Chad, appraisingly. “I think you’ll do alright, though….you’ll make a great...sorry, I’m not familiar with ranks.”

 

“Full Lieutenant.” Chad responded, proudly.

 

“Think you can handle that sort of command?” Wesley teased.

 

“Sure. I can be pretty commanding.” 

 

“ _ Can _ you?” Wesley’s voice was low, sultry.

 

Chad’s breath caught in his throat, surprised by Wesley’s boldness but thrilled nonetheless. “Do you want to…”

 

“Your place?”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Wesley nodded, slid out of his booth seat, reeling a bit from the rush that spiked through his skull.  

 

“God, you’re….” Chad observed, eyes raking over his slim body. He’d decided to wear another pair of dark, flattering slacks, and a long sleeved, laurel green shirt rolled up to the elbows, complementing the hazel of his eyes.

 

Wesley’s lips curled playfully. One hand stabilized on the table, concealing the full extent of his inebriation, he smoothed a palm down Chad’s arm, testing the impressive muscles of his bicep. 

 

“Yes?” He prompted.

 

“Let’s get out of here.” Chad decided, looping an arm around Wesley’s trim waist and guiding him toward the exit. Wesley slumped against him and laughed.

 

”Ok,  _ Commander. _ ” Chad felt his prick stir in his pants, and toyed with the idea of fucking Wesley in the restroom, instead of his quarters but there were far too many people in the bar who might come knocking and spoil the moment.

 

They moved between filled tables and crowds of people, progress hindered here and there, coming to a full and jarring halt, when a figure stepped in and blocked their path.

 

“Uh, excuse us- Oh! C-commander Riker.” Chad found the words before Wesley did. He sounded like a completely different person, his voice was tight and formal, an octave or two higher. Not so commanding, anymore.

 

“Ensign.” Riker nodded, his voice low. “Mr. Crusher.” Chad looked between them, confused.

 

“You’re late.” Wesley accused, clinging even tighter to Chad. 

 

Riker frowned. “And you’re drunk.” He turned his attention to the now terrified Ensign, cleaving him with a pointed glare. “I’m going to assume that you were about to escort Wesley safely back to his quarters.”

 

“Y-yes sir. Absolutely.” Chad stammered. “But...you’re here now, so....” He detached himself from Wesley.

 

“Um. Goodnight, Wesley.” He nodded, stiffly. “Commander.” 

 

Chad fled the scene, practically tripping over himself in his haste 

 

Wesley glared, then got a headache from glaring. He made to leave in a dramatic huff, but stumbled forward and would have fallen if not for Riker’s quick reflexes. 

 

“Ugh. Commander.” He groaned, leaning into him. “Bed, ok?” 

 

“Not yet.” With an arm around his waist, Riker supported the drunk youth, hoisting him up into a hunched-standing position. “We have a conversation to finish.” He reminded. They left the bar, and headed toward Wesley’s quarters.. 

 

The young man was warm, soft, and perfumed with sweetened alcohol and sugar, his lithe body melting against Riker’s sturdier one. 

 

““Hmmmm…..no. Bed.” His laugh was quiet, throaty, breath hot against his neck.

 

Riker shivered. He wondered if Wesley’s former lover had ever found him in this state, or more likely,  _ put _ him in this state. The thought made him seethe, then shudder, and his heart sink with guilt, knowing that his own self-control was currently hanging by the barest of threads and he had very little room to judge another man’s constitution. 

 

They entered a turbolift, nearly there. Riker took a moment to readjust and find a better hold on the squirming, loose-limbed boy. Wesley danced out of the way, laughed again, threw his arms over Riker’s shoulders. 

 

“Come on, Wes…” He begged, voice strained. “You’re killing me, here…”

 

Wesley’s head tilted, his eyelids twitched, trying to focus. He squinted, mouth pouting, serious. 

 

“Bed.” 

 

“No.”

 

Blood rushed to Riker’s groin and images he’d been long repressing stubbornly surfaced, clouding his senses. 

 

“Please…”

 

The older man took a solid inhale through this nostrils, steeled himself, feeling like this was the longest turbolift he’d ever been on. 

 

“Almost there.” He gritted out. “It’s going to be okay, Wes…”

 

Nimble arms slithered down, to rest against his front and toy with the area where black fabric met red. Wesley peered up at him and smiled dreamily.

 

“Ok….I trust you.”

 

The drunken admission tore through Riker’s heart, and the question blared, obvious and agonizing:

 

_ Then why not me?  _

 

_ Why  _ **_him_ ** _? _


	5. Chapter 5

“Three drinks, Wes. You’ll live.” Riker handed Wesley his third glass of water. “Don’t lay down. If it’s bad enough to lay down, it’s bad enough to pay a visit to Dr. Crusher...and won’t she be thrilled.” He threatened.

 

Wesley tossed it back, glaring, his cheeks full and flushed, dark hair tousled loosely across his forehead. 

 

Riker had dragged him back to his quarters, given him a pill for his headache, handed him glass after glass of purifying water, and planted himself in a chair, waiting for his mind to clear, as though he’d gone through this a thousand other times with a thousand other reckless and horny young charges.

 

His simple remedies worked, mostly. It still felt like a Klingon had been sitting on his head, but his presence of mind had returned. Wesley wasn’t going to wiggle out of this discussion, no matter how much he complained, or argued, or flirted.

 

“I have to piss. Do I have your permission to piss?” Wesley grumbled, and Riker nodded. 

 

Wesley relieved himself and washed his hands, taking in his appearance under the harsh lights of the bathroom. He looked thin, tired, messy. What had Chad even seen in him? What did anyone see in him. Wesley felt like crying. So he did, until that became a physical catalyst for throwing up. He brushed his teeth after his stomach contents were emptied, splashed water on his face and took off his sweater and shoes, leaving him in a thin t-shirt. He left the bathroom, feeling docile, his steps timid and head low. 

 

Riker must have heard him vomit, because he neared Wesley on the sofa and began rubbing his back in soothing circles. Wesley had twin spots of embarrassment perched high on his cheeks. 

 

“Feel better?”

 

“I’m so sorry.” Wesley mumbled, jamming his palms against his eyes, shaking his head. 

 

“I shouldn’t have been late,” Riker admonished himself, and Wesley looked at him, teary, confused. “Shouldn’t have let you out of my sight, yesterday, not after....”

 

“.... you learned that I can’t be trusted...”

 

“No.” Riker’s voice was tender, understanding. “After what you’d been through. I should have realized, that kind of trauma-”

 

“Please...don’t,” Wesley begged, quietly. “Don’t defend me. Not until you’ve heard the whole story.”

 

“Ok.” Riker said patiently, drawing back. “Fair enough. Go ahead.”

 

Wesley sighed, wiggled around uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. This is weird. I don’t even know where to begin, it’s really….you know.”

 

“I’ve been around the block, Wes. Nothing you say will shock me.” Riker had leaned to the other side of the couch, his handsome face relaxed, open, without a hint of reproach. “And I won’t tell anyone. Since you didn’t willfully tamper with school records, I have no obligation to report you.”

 

“What about Professor Roberts?” Wesley asked, tentative.

 

“I’d like to report him.” Riker admitted. “I’d also like to corner him somewhere, start twisting off various body parts, and beam them all over space.” And Wesley let out a small, startled laugh.

 

“But….you won’t.”

 

“For one thing, you’re not a minor, and I don’t work for the school. I’m not bound by their staff regulations. Secondly, indicting him would require you to testify everything that happened. Your relationship would become public knowledge. He's a louse, and should be fired for what he did….but no, I won’t put you through that, not without your consent. Is it completely ethical, that I keep this between us? No. But that’s the choice I’m making.”

 

“Thank you, Commander.”

 

“But..while we’re on the subject of consent-”

 

Wesley squirmed, and blurted out the words, like ripping off a bandage.

 

“It was consensual.”

“You understand that if that wasn’t the case, without question, I’d have to-”

“I understand. I wouldn’t want that on my conscience, believe me.” Wesley said, firmly. “I was never intoxicated or compromised, and I always... I always wanted it.” He blushed, clearing his throat. “I know….you’d think someone who did what he did would take advantage in other ways, but he didn’t.”

 

Riker looked far from happy about it, but shrugged. “What’s done is done. Maybe I can help make the situation better. Maybe I can’t.  Like I said, that’s entirely up to you. This is just you and me right now, figuring out what to do from here.”

 

Wesley nodded, staring at his feet.

 

He paused, struggling. “If that’s the case, why do I have to tell you the whole story? Can’t I just put it behind me and move on? You just said, what’s done is done -” 

 

“What I saw back there in the bar,” Riker reminded. “is that what you call moving on?” 

 

Wesley shrank, feeling sick at the drunken memory, embarrassed. 

 

“I care about  _ you _ , Wes. Not your goddamn grades, not Starfleet.  **You.** ”

 

Wesley had no clever rebuttal to that. Suddenly, that very last shred of resistance he’d been jealousy guarding seemed pointless to drag out. 

 

“Picard warned me. But it was a thousand times worse than I imagined.”    
  


He grabbed the half empty glass of water, feeling parched. He was breathless but refreshed when he emptied it.

 

“Everyone has this perfect image of me, you know?”

 

“I don’t.” Riker smirked.

 

“Thanks.” Wesley said, wryly.  “Either way. The workload I took on was too much with the added stress, but I just thought...this must be like getting over an illness, you just wake up one day and you’re back to yourself again, right? But it doesn’t work like that. Nova Squad changed me, and I wasn’t dealing with it. Ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away.” 

 

“I could have told you that.  _ Anyone _ could have told you that, if you’d just-”

“I  _ know _ . But by the time I realized I needed help, I felt so ashamed for putting it off. Plus, I was depressed because everyone avoided me at school. I was a rat, you know. Being picked on, I’m used to.”

 

He paused, staring at the folded hands on his lap.

 

“Being invisible is a lot worse. I wasn’t invisible with Professor Roberts.” Wesley said, and it started to come together from there.

 

“When he requested to meet with me, I was terrified, I mean, the head of the department? I thought he was going to kick me out. But he listened, remembered every detail of what I’d told him, and offered to help. I started noticing how close he’d get during our talks, the subtle touches, how he’d look at me. I liked it, and I liked him. So I confided in him that I was gay….touched him back. When he got hard, that’s when I knew.”

 

Riker was stunned. He wished that Wesley would stop, but at the same time, wouldn’t let him if he decided to.

 

Wesley acknowledged Riker’s mixed, unreadable expression, the words he knew were warring with his better judgement, words that were not very kind at all, but nothing less than what he deserved. So Wesley did him a favor and said it, instead.

 

“I knew what I was doing. I knew it was wrong. I won’t sit here and deny it, because you wouldn’t believe me anyway. I wanted to finish the Academy and get Into Starfleet more than I cared about anything else. Not that it’s any excuse, but after Nova Squad, authority didn’t have a whole lot of meaning anymore.”

 

Riker kept his temper in check, but could not disguise his emotions completely. He rubbed at his temple, eyes pressed closed. 

 

“I understand that, but...you’re a  _ smart _ kid, Wes. How did he convince you to do something so….”

 

“Because I felt like  _ shit _ about myself and he told me everything I wanted to hear.”

 

“Like what? What kinds of things?”

 

“Like...it wasn’t right that I’d worked so hard, only to meet the halfway point and look average. He couldn’t allow an exceptional cadet like me to fall through the cracks of a broken system. And when we were...intimate, the things he’d say and do, it was like…it scrambled up my brain, or something.”

 

“‘I've experienced that feeling, a time or two...” Riker’s eyes were knowing, and Wesley blushed again, shaking it off and sounding angrier, now, to temper his arousal at the memory.

 

“When I found out he changed the grades, I knew a line had been crossed.”

 

“Well, I’m glad you saw the difference.”

 

“Extra projects are one thing. I completed them, Commander, I really did. I took it seriously….because I _ thought _ that’s what he wanted, for me to grow and succeed.” 

 

He shook his head in anger. “He acted as though _ I _ betrayed  _ him _ . Can you believe that? That’s the worst part, realizing that he never cared about me at all. Maybe I’ll recover my education, or my career, but that part...what he took from me...feels so permanent.” 

 

Riker felt his chest constrict. He wanted more than anything to stitch that wound, to show Wesley the tenderness and reverence he deserved, without any slimy catches or conditions.

 

“I know it’s a small condolence right now, but I promise it isn’t.” He reassured. “You’ll trust again. You’ll find someone who loves and respects you. As long as you love and respect yourself, of course.”

 

“How is it possible to be so close to someone, do the things we did...and then use those things as blackmail? He knew that reporting this would be an admission of my own guilt. He said, your As are now incompletes...feel free to withdraw at your convenience. Just like that.”

 

“Bastard.”

 

“He is, but I’m the idiot who believed all that garbage.”

 

“What was garbage?” Riker said. “That you’re special?” 

 

Wesley shrugged.

 

“Let’s be clear, Wes. You’re special...but not an  _ exception _ . That’s how manipulation works. Fact is twisted into the fiction, presented as something believable, because no one goes along with an obvious lie. All that stuff about your potential, that you’re brilliant and beautiful...of course that’s true. He was wrong about a lot of things, but that was on the nose.”

 

Wesley flushed at the compliment. “But is that really me, anymore? When I’ve lied so much?” 

 

“And cheated.” Riker pointed out, and Wesley cringed.

 

“Oh, thanks.” 

 

Riker shrugged. “This is the conversation you need. You made adult choices and adult mistakes, without the emotional maturity to-”

 

“I think I’m a little past the sex talk, Commander.”

 

“I’m not talking about the mechanics of it. I’m talking about what’s going on in your head.”

 

“There was  _ nothing _ going on in my head.” Wesley insisted. “ _ That’s _ the problem.  _ That’s _ what I’m trying to tell you.”

 

“No.” Riker said firmly, leaning in. “You’re simplifying. What, he fucked your brains  _ literally _ out of your body? I’m sure it was good, but no sex is  _ that _ good.” Wesley gaped, shocked. 

 

“You worried about living up to expectations, and maybe some of that is our fault, my fault, but there’s a streak of arrogance and conceit in you, Wesley Crusher, why else would you keep this from everyone? But  _ he _ comes along, tells you how wonderful you are and convinces you that rules don’t apply, and that seems like a better option?”

 

“Not better, just...”

 

“Easier. Face it, Wes. This was written the second Picard forbid children on the bridge and you sat there anyway. Within months, you got to be Ensign, when others take years. On the surface, you’re all duty, “yes, sir,” darling wunderkind of the Enterprise, but you get what you want because you’re an insolent little brat who doesn’t listen.”

 

Wesley’s mouth dropped. He blustered out a syllable or two, which Riker found rather cute, but he continued, his tone praising, now.

 

“This is what makes me certain you’re destined to be a fierce leader and strategist. Most people go their entire lives, never seeing anything beyond the path spelled out for them, they abide by every obstacle, but you...you know what you want and take it like it’s your birthright, and maybe it is. You just have to know when to reign that ambition in, stop and look at the big picture. Determination is important, but so is integrity and patience.”

 

Wesley looked shaken, then resigned. He put his face in his hands. Riker drew in beside him and rubbed his back.

 

“Shortcuts look attractive, but they’re not always worth the risk.”

 

He laughed, but more to himself, like he was thinking hard on the past and the choices he’d made as a mentor. 

 

“Hell. Maybe I should have encouraged you to be bad more often, mess up like a normal kid, try not to take everything so damn seriously. But...you always seemed happy doing your own thing.” 

 

Wesley, frustrated and morose, took it an indelicate step further.

 

“No. That sounds about right. It’s all your fault I’m like this, Commander.” He grumbled.

 

Riker was thoughtful, his next question risky, possibly too loaded to be considered wise, but he couldn’t resist, this thing that had been bothering him from the beginning. 

 

“This may sound like a strange question...but do you think, maybe, he wasn’t just a shortcut to grades, but...something else?”

 

He could feel Wesley’s back muscles tense beneath his hand.  Wesley sat up, his face was soft, and sure, and so close he could smell the residual toothpaste in his mouth. 

 

“I’d never even kissed someone. Nothing. Is that strange? For my first  _ everything _ to be...someone like him.”

 

“Not strange, just one way to learn. Like diving into the deep end without any swimming lessons. More fun than splashing around in the shallows, but you might just drown.” 

 

“I didn’t drown. I was eaten by a shark” Wesley clarified. “But I was a good swimmer. That’s something.”

 

“Wes, don’t...start equating sex with skill. Or worth. You don’t want to go down that road, trust me.” Riker countered, in that all-knowing tone he often adopted during these talks. “I know that it can feel good, to please your partner, but-”

 

Wesley bristled, unable to stomach the stinging hypocrisy. 

 

“Now look who’s simplifying.” 

 

“What.do you mean?” 

 

“You can’t tell me that sex isn’t important. You, of all people, Commander.” Wesley seemed ready for an argument over this, which caught Riker completely off guard. 

 

“When we dock at a starbase, or take on visitors. Sometimes, you come back from an away mission and you can just...tell. If not self worth, if not love, what  _ do _ you get out of it? Do those people matter at all?” 

 

“Suddenly you’re an expert on my lovelife?” Riker said. Where was this coming from, and why did Wesley sound so agitated?

 

“I paid attention.” Wesley said. “I wanted to see... “ He paused, feeling the words in his mouth before he said them.

 

“See what?”

 

“What you look for. What you like.”  

 

“What I like.….” Riker repeated, carefully, his pulse quickening.

 

Wesley nodded. 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

His affair with Professor Roberts had been a catastrophe on a supernova scale. It probably destroyed his life, as he knew it so far. But it didn’t have to be a waste, and maybe it was meant to happen, prepare him for this moment, for a man who would actually treat him right and love him back. 

 

Wesley reached out, put a hand on Riker’s thigh.

 

“Wesley, what…”

  
“He wasn’t a shortcut, he was a substitute.” Wesley’s smile was tentative, teasing, hopeful. The words were self assured but his face and voice were so young and dear, his tremble unmistakable. “I wanted it to be you, Commander.” 


	6. Chapter 6

Riker knew that he should be taking back control of the conversation, steer it, anywhere but the direction things were moving, perform some emergency evasive maneuvers and urge Wesley to reexamine these feelings, weigh them in light of his recent heartbreak. 

 

Talk, instead of act.

 

But Wesley’s lovely face was so heartbreaking and trusting, his lips so wet and pink and goddammit if he wasn’t the prettiest young man he’d ever seen.

 

Riker had wanted this for a while. But it was always safely improbable, nothing he’d think to plan for. He knew he could never, ever initiate such a thing, with a boy he’d mentored since 15. And he never,  _ ever _ believed that nervy little Wesley Crusher would be the one to go for it. The possibility was galaxies off, alternate-universes away.

 

Nevertheless, the hard and fast reality was happening, too quickly to comprehend. The young man brought one leg up to kneel, and sat higher, aligning himself. He leaned in and pressed his soft mouth to Riker’s, hands delicately curled against his chest, bunching the fabric there. 

 

When Riker did not pull away, Wesley hummed low in his throat, tipped his head to the side and nuzzled in deeper, urging a response from the older man.

 

A strong arm found his middle, drew their  bodies together, and snaked down to clutch under the curve of his ass. Riker’s other hand cradled the back of his neck, threaded through his dark brown locks and took control of the kiss. 

 

Wesley made a pleased, gasping sound through their joined mouths, broke contact to readjust, and slide into Riker’s lap. 

 

But Riker prevented the maneuver, shaking his head. Wesley sat back, horrified fingers against his tingling lips, eyes shimmering with disbelief. 

 

“..we can’t.” Riker’s face was pained. He reached out, but Wesley recoiled further. 

 

“I’m going to throw up again.” He warned, shaking his head. “I really am.”

 

“Wes…”

 

“Forget it. Just forget it. I’m going to bed....” He scrambled off the sofa. If the Commander said anything after him, he couldn’t hear it over the hammering in his skull. 

 

Riker stared after him, dumbfounded.

 

In his diverse and perilous career, he’d faced Klingon Warships, Cardassian fighters, but nothing had disarmed him like that tender, heated kiss.

 

Wesley’s slight body had molded perfectly against his own, his mouth and the sounds that came out of it, delicious and encouraging, bringing to mind heavier, more intimate acts. And that’s why Riker had stopped, knowing from experience what that small window of clarity represented. Once it was closed, there would be no turning back. 

 

He was now faced with another window, the one that allowed him to go to Wesley, carry him to bed and pick up where they’d left off. As long as he remained in that room, filled with reminders of the boy, the taste of him, the smell of him, the inviting arch of his back and tempting little swell of his ass pressing into his hand, and knowing he was nearby and so  _ ready _ for it, there was still a chance.

 

He couldn’t risk that chance, so he left.

~

 

The muffled sounds of fabric, shoes hitting the floor, and the ‘swish’ of the automated entryway signaled Riker’s departure. Inside his darkened room, Wesley released a shuddering breath he’d been holding, pressed his cheek against the door and squeezed his eyes shut. 

 

Everything was fracturing, flying apart. This had been his last chance at finding something  _ good _ to come of all this, and all it had amounted to was another failure to throw on the pile. 

 

For a few precious moments, he relished the silence, knowing that Riker was waiting, maybe reconsidering. Wesley’s body still thrummed with excitement, his heart was giddy; it wouldn’t take much. He wouldn’t have to apologize or say a thing, just hold him close and kiss him again. Wesley was forgiving like that.

 

Wesley hadn’t really doubted his decision to leave Professor Roberts, or school, until now. Even before the incident with the grades, before Nova Squadron, the Academy hadn’t felt right. His grades had been fine, but his spirit was unsure. He told himself, if it hadn’t been Nova Squad, hadn’t been the Professor, it would have been  _ something _ .

 

He wasn’t cut out for this pressure, or this life. There was obviously something, some weakness or compulsion about Wesley that made him a target. Trouble would have found him. 

 

He’d foolishly hoped that Picard would create some sort of non-traditional, apprentice career path for him to fill on the Enterprise, and that hadn’t happened. He’d thought that maybe, at least, his time with Roberts had given him the experience needed to finally be seen as an adult, be wanted as an adult by the man he’d loved for so many years – Commander Riker. And that hadn’t happened. 

 

Those who Wesley wished would move on and treat him normally, avoided or coddled him. And the one person he’d hoped would see him in a different light, saw him as more of a reckless, pitiful child than ever.  

 

Unsettled by this, he once again struggled to find sleep, horrified to think that maybe, staying would have been the better choice. Despite the dysfunction and guilt, nothing could be worse than how he was feeling right now.

 

~

_ Starfleet Academy, two weeks prior. _

 

Two tests, a major project and three extra credit assignments had decided to convene on the same day, and Wesley was stressing out. He’d managed to lift most of his C’s to B’s and stellar marks on these exams would give him a fighting chance at A’s, by the end of the semester, a feat he never would have believed possible a few months ago.

 

Unfortunately, the young cadet was encountering the same problem he faced every time he needed to find a suitable study area - there  _ weren’t _ any. Not for the likes of him, anyway.

 

Wesley’s roommate was a cadet two years his senior, the boyfriend of Sito Jaxa, a pajorian girl and member of the Nova Squadron, who faced a similar probation and credit penalty after Wesley’s confession. Needless to say, this made his shared dwelling an unwelcome place. Outside of sleeping and showering, he was rarely there.

 

He took advantage of classrooms that were not in session but open for use. He had a whole schedule memorized for that sort of thing, and could usually plan it so that he was alone. But right now, with students scrambling to finish projects and desperately bring up their grades, others had the same idea, and solitude was impossible to find. Everywhere he went, Wesley was met with unfriendly stares, whispers, and sneers. 

 

Slumping, defeated, he knew that he had no other choice but to see if Professor Roberts would allow him the use his office for a time. Hopefully, he was too busy with grading, curriculums, and recommendations and would let him study in peace.

 

It wasn’t that he disliked the attention, or found it unwanted. He often craved it, and on more than one occasion,  _ begged _ for it. But sometimes, Wesley felt as though Roberts didn’t fully appreciate his desire to outperform himself, to really do his best. 

 

This favor of his, this “little nudge”, a boost, or whatever infantile  justification he decided to call it that particular day, was not a magic wand. One day, Wesley would have to take this knowledge and wield it, in an actual Starfleet role. Lives would be in his hands. Wesley took that responsibility very seriously, even if the Professor never seemed to. 

 

“Come in.” Robert’s voice was gravelly, low. Wesley entered his office, and the dark smell of his cologne, the settling quiet, was terribly inviting. Piles of books and lab specimens under glass, trophies and awards collected throughout his career lined the walls. It was inspiring, intimidating, and thrilling. 

 

He felt the pull, as he always did, and stepped inside, biting his lip.

 

“Hi.” Wesley slinked his way over, looking sullen. 

 

“Hello, beautiful.” Roberts pushed his chair from his desk, standing with a long stretch of his muscles. He winced slightly, placing a hand over the area of his knee where flesh met false leg, the site of his injury.

 

“You always seem to know when I desperately need a break.” He smirked, reaching Wesley and pulling their bodies together. Wesley looked up at his teacher, and Roberts frowned, brushed his downy cheek with a course thumb. “Why the sad eyes?”

 

Wesley sighed, pressing his ear against the Professor’s chest. He really needed this room, really needed those A’s.

 

“Can’t study.” He mumbled. “Not in my room, not in the library. They all stare at me and make it impossible.”

 

“Small minds. They’re jealous.” Robert’s said matter-of-factly, stroking Wesley’s hair. He cupped his face, regarded him. “Even with all of your setbacks, you’re  _ still  _ better than they are, and they hate it.” 

 

Wesley had heard some variation of this at least fifty times. How he was special, exceptional, better. It was an adequate balm, for a time, but now he needed more. He needed to actually prove to himself that he was all of those things, not just hear it, or bliss out to endearments and tempting promises while his body was being turned inside out. That just wasn’t cutting it anymore.

 

“Can I study here?” he asked. 

 

“Well...I leave for a meeting in about two hours, proctor a makeup exam, then I have two classes…” Wesley’s pout intensified and Roberts considered him for a moment.

 

“I’d have to lock you in, of course,” he warned. “To all the world, this room is unoccupied. But you know how to be quiet, don’t you, my little mouse?” he teased, and Wesley smiled, relieved. He stood on his toes and kissed his Professor.

 

“Thank you. Thank you  _ so _ much. I really think I’m gonna pull off A’s, you know.”

 

“I think that’s a distinct possibility,” Robert’s said, cryptically, as his hands began to wander. Wesley squirmed, satisfied that he’d secured a peaceful study spot for the rest of the night. There was always that thrill of power he enjoyed after getting his way. He pressed his groin against his lover and clutched at his arms, inviting.

 

“So...that meeting is in two hours?”

 

May as well satisfy another need, he thought.

 

“Wicked boy.” His professor grinned. “Who said anything about that time being  _ free _ ?” His words were diminished by the healthy squeeze-and-swat he gave to Wesley’s bottom, causing him to gasp. 

 

“I think I should put you to work, speed the process along, eh?” he suggested, guiding a puzzled Wesley over to his desk, where a file sat opened on his computer screen. 

 

Wesley frowned, recognizing the document as a test, the answers filled in the traditional way, within designated blank fields. The paper was half graded and this particular student did not seem to be doing very well, though, even without the experience of being an educator, Wesley could clearly see a linear thought process in his mistakes, nothing a session or two of catching up couldn’t fix.

 

He leaned over the desk, the white glow of the screen washing out the color in his face. Wesley knew that he wasn’t supposed to see this but the curiosity of it, the confidentiality,  got the better of him.

 

“Sad, isn’t it?” Roberts drolled, reading his thoughts. “I don’t know how the moron made it through entrance exams, either.” The comment was a whisper, tinged with an unsettling meanness, that broke Wesley from his trance. 

 

Roberts was all solid, insistant heat, flush against his back. Wesley twisted his head around, eager to ignore the screen and engulf himself in other sensations, as the guilt clamped his guts together and threatened to spoil his good mood.

 

Their mouths crashed again, wetter and hotter this time. Wesley had one arm braced against the desk, as Professor Roberts stole a hand under his Academy sweatshirt and splayed out against the flat, trembling skin of his bare stomach. The older man was hard and nudging his prick into the crease of his ass. 

 

The cadet’s arm began to wobble. He broke the kiss with a wanting sound and bent, head forward, as the shirt rose up and over him, and to his slight amusement, went flying over the computer screen and hung there. Problem solved.

 

Behind him, the Professor was busy planting kisses up and down his back, working the fastenings of his pants. Wesley kicked off his shoes, which allowed the pants to slide down his legs and off, together with the rest of his clothes, leaving him bare and pinned against the desk.

 

He moaned, arching his back, a clear incitement. Roberts placed a hand against his throat, titled his face up and kissed him deeply. 

 

“I have a surprise for you.” He rumbled, watching Wesley’s swollen lips, his dark hooded eyes.

 

”I was going to wait,” He said, dipping a finger into an obedient, suckling mouth.

 

“but if you’re  _ very good _ , I’ll give it to you early.” He removed his finger, slithered it down Wesley’s crack and began playing with his hole. Wesley made a whining sound and pushed against it. 

 

He would get his surprise. He always did.

 

The Professor relocated to his chair and scooted it forward, facing Wesley’s jutting bottom, pale and pretty and blushing in the middle. A cheek in each hand, he spread the halves open, and the boy made a sweet, begging noise in this throat. He chuckled, darkly, blowing against the pink hole, lapped at him deeply and drank in the noises he made. 

 

He teased him this way for a minute or so, palming the aching hardness beneath his devilish mouth, then stopped, and tugged the aroused boy into his lap. Wesley was tousled, shivering and hungry for more. They kissed again, Wesley moaning at the taste of himself, then Robert’s pulled away. 

 

His hands settled on Wesley’s hips, and he canted his head in a thoughtful pose. Wesley caught his breath and gave him a wondering look. 

 

“I think you deserve your surprise now.” He said, and Wesley laughed. 

 

“That wasn’t it?” 

 

“Hardly.” The older man wanted Wesley to see this now, knew that his gratitude would heighten the sex tremendously, as it always did. He’d give the boy the world, piece by piece, for how much Wesley pleased him in return. And when he ran out of things to give him, he’d take them all away, dole them out like they were brand new, and he’d be too hungry to know the difference.

 

With the cadet still in his lap, he moved his chair forward again. Wesley giggled, held onto his shoulders and pivoted so that he could see. Professor Roberts removed the sweatshirt from the computer and began tapping away, moving from folder to folder until he had it. Moving back, he made a satisfied face, stroked Wesley’s side and kissed his shoulder as the boy read what was in front of him.

 

They were his records, that much was clear. He’d seen them before, many times, throughout his “counselling,” mostly to watch the slow, creeping improvement, through hard work and extra projects.

 

He knew exactly what he was looking at, but still couldn’t believe it.

 

“Why are my grades changed?” He said, with a squeak of alarm. “Why are there A’s...I don’t  _ have _ A’s.” 

 

“You do now.” Robert’s bent in to nuzzle at his throat, but Wesley jerked away and trembled with anger in his lap. 

 

“Why would you do this?” Wesley demanded, panicked.

 

“Oh, calm down,” Roberts dismissed. Infuriatingly enough, he sounded amused, trying to settle him with caresses to his thighs. “No one is going to find out, I can guarantee it. Have you forgotten who I am…?” He purred, bringing his hands under Wesley’s ass. 

 

“But...” Wesley insisted, twisting, but the hands continued to explore him. “This is  _ wrong _ , it’s too much…” 

 

“Wrong?  _ Now _ you start caring about what’s wrong?” 

 

“This is different.” 

 

“A minute ago you were begging to use my office.” 

 

“So I could use it to work!” 

 

“On extra credit that  _ I made up _ .” 

 

Wesley quieted, feeling stunned and useless.

 

“Sweetheart,” Robert’s laugh was dark, and deprecating, and made Wesley’s skin crawl.

 

_ “ _ Don’t you get it?  _ This _ is the only work I expect from you.” One of his hands curled, finding his hole again, rubbing the still-wet wrinkled button.

 

“Right….here.” he said, pushing inside, and Wesley’s mouth and body opened right up. Roberts knew exactly how to pet him from the inside. He sucked on Wesley’s throat as he moaned, marking the flesh. 

 

Wesley didn’t say another word about the grades that afternoon. He was too vulnerable, sitting there on the man’s lap, his thick finger manipulating him. He didn’t say a word later that night when Professor Roberts found him asleep on the sofa in his office and woke him with a feverish kiss. 

 

The cadet remained uneasy about what Roberts had done, but laying there, feeling the man push into him so carefully, kiss his eyelids and tell him how sweet his cries were, he knew that when he did confront this, it would be alright. He’d convince his lover to put the grades back the way they were and everything would be fine.


	7. Chapter 7

Wesley couldn’t help but wonder how things would have panned out if he’d just kept his mouth shut, let Professor Roberts change his grades and fuck him senseless every night so he wouldn’t have to think about how much he hated himself. 

 

But then what? Graduate with honors, move into a top tier ensign position, get someone else killed because he had no idea what the hell he was doing? 

 

No. Miserable as he was, he still had respect for what those grades meant. He hadn’t minded the extra credit, as much as Roberts dismissed it as adorable busywork, he  _ earned _ that knowledge. He was very slowly reclaiming the confidence he’d lost. In the bar, even drunk, he knew the correct terminology.  _ A third year ensign  _ didn’t know it, but  _ he _ did _. _

 

Unpleasant memories and warring regrets aside, Wesley’s sleep had been restorative. Last night had been mortifying, but the unburdening of his conscience, and heart, left him feeling lighter.

 

Getting ready for the day, he thought back on the kiss with Commander Riker, and just how he planned to apologise for something he enjoyed so much and would do again in heartbeat. In the shower, hot water pelted his stiff joints. He visualized the steam seeping into his pores, detoxifying last night, the week before, months and months of filth and regret swirling down the drain. 

 

He knew he’d rushed it last night. Too many months of having a man seemingly wrapped around his finger had left him overconfident. But Commander Riker  _ did  _ kiss back, his hand unmistakably roamed, knew exactly where to go, what would start him up. These were details he wanted to forget, so he could move on. They needed space, Wesley thought, stepping out of the shower, swiping a hand across the fogged up mirror.

 

He thought about advice he’d been given, the people who cared about him, and what they would likely suggest he do from here. Maybe, today, he’d style his hair, and replicate some new clothing, try on a dab of cologne. 

 

Picard would probably suggest something like that. Look sharp, invigorate your mind with some fine literature, a cup of Earl Grey, and face the day, Mr. Crusher.

 

It didn’t matter what your role was, didn’t matter if you had a uniform or pips or a combadge. If you lived on the Enterprise, you were part of Her, and just as essential as someone who did. 

 

Wesley ate a full, nutritious breakfast, while his mother fussed. He wasn’t very hungry, but he swallowed it anyway, knowing it was good for him and the sickness would settle eventually. He listened to her suggest, again, that he make an appointment with counselor Troi, and when he said that he’d consider the notion, it wasn’t just lip service. 

 

He also  took his mother’s advice from the day before, and left to spend some time “finding himself,” as she called it, in the Holodeck. Wesley knew, more than likely, he would just sit there and sulk, but in keeping with the theme of listening to others, he went anyway. 

 

Making his own decisions was clearly a recipe for disaster, so he vowed to make as little of them as possible, going forward. 

 

“Program….” Choosing a holodeck program, a decision he’d always relished in the past, was already proving a challenge.

 

He could lay in a boat, rocked by gentle waves, watch schools of silvery fish flicker by. Enjoy a crackling campfire in a warm, secluded cave as a musical rainstorm trickled outside. A sunny field dotted with flowers, fresh air against his cheeks. 

 

Or maybe he needed something more stimulating, dangerous, something to toughen him up. An opponent, a fencing match, a  _ fight _ . Maybe he needed to yell and scream at the top of a mountain, or- 

 

When you’d always been so cautious, then suddenly  _ too reckless _ , making decisions was a nasty business, every choice felt so defining it nearly paralyzed you. 

 

Wesley was at a loss, and considered scrapping the Holodeck completely. But warmth came up behind him, perilously close. An arm stretched across his body and pressed a series of rapid code.

 

“Riker 483.” Commander Riker ordered, smoothly. Wesley gaped at him then looked away, feeling hot all over, ready to bolt. The older man was far too calm right now, his smile charming. It was infuriating.

 

“You can have the room...” Wesley mumbled, turning to leave. 

 

“You weren’t going in?”

 

“I’ve decided to go to the arboretum. Dig a giant hole and bury myself.”

 

Riker laughed. “I have a better idea.” He insisted, steering him inside. “I think this program might be just what you need.”

 

Annoyed, knowing he couldn’t refuse, Wesley followed Riker into the Holodeck, where a brand new outside greeted them. 

 

His feet hit dirt and gravel and flattened grass. A winding, uphill path, fenced on one side. 

 

Riker’s program was something Wesley recognised. He’d seen it before, in glimpses of childhood photos framed around the Commander’s room. Alaska, a green and brown and white landscape, surprisingly mild and lush, if this simulation was accurate. 

 

“It’s beautiful.” He said.

 

“Even better up close, come with me.”

 

They approached a sturdy, rustic cabin. Attached, was a large, wooden patio that cut into the crystal waters of a lake, but they didn’t go inside. Riker gestured to some cushioned outdoor furniture on the front porch. Wesley sighed, not bothering to hide how much he didn’t want to be there. The Commander took a seat next to him.  

 

“No mosquitoes, don’t worry.”

 

“Do we have to do this? Already?” Wesley mumbled.  

 

“Yes.” Riker said. “We’ll be working together in two days, so it’s a bit pointless to belabor-”

 

“Wait... _ what _ ?”  

 

Riker’s smile was indulgent and warm.

 

“Picard and I spoke, and decided that it’s a waste of your talent and time not to restore your Ensign privileges. Whether you intend to re-apply to the Academy is your own business, and a separate matter entirely, as far as we’re concerned.” 

 

Wesley couldn’t believe it. 

 

“How…” He blinked. “Was this the Captain’s idea, or…”

 

Riker shook his head. 

 

“I arranged to see him yesterday. That’s why I was so late to our meeting at Ten Forward.” Wesley felt small and selfish,  recalling how angry he’d been that Riker made him wait.

 

“Picard was...hesitant to reinstate you. It took some rigorous convincing on my part.” Riker explained.

 

“He doesn’t think it matters...doesn’t think I’m going back to the Academy.” 

 

“He’s doubtful.” Riker admitted. “But can you blame him? He doesn’t know what I know. You have to remember how it looks from where he’s standing.”

 

Wesley nodded. 

 

“I’ll prove myself.” He said, with a determination that made Riker beam proudly. 

 

“I know you will.” 

 

“Thank you so much, Commander.” He held off on hugging Riker, but tried to express his elation the best his could despite the boundaries. 

 

“I can’t even begin to tell you what this means to me. Two days…is that enough time?”  Wesley breathed, incredulous. “I hope I remember everything...” 

 

“We’ll run through basics together, starting this afternoon. That was one of Picard’s  _ many _ conditions. But before we do, there’s something else we have to talk about.” Riker began, and Wesley nodded, braced himself, a flurry of awkward apologies waiting their turn on his tongue.  

 

“I want you to understand something, Wes. I was waiting for the right time to tell you this news, and then...something happened, something that complicated things. We were about to do more, I think…a lot more.”

 

“Yeah.” Wesley looked down. “I thought so too.”

 

“Think about how it would have looked,” Riker’s voice was uncommonly strained. “You had barely sobered up. I listened to how this man took advantage of your desperation. Then we make love, and you’re given this...let’s admit it, exceptional opportunity at a second chance.”

 

“Sounds like a pretty great day to me.” Wesley joked, and Riker nudged him, and the simple exchange left them both feeling easier, less tense.

 

“No, I understand.” Wesley agreed. “You didn’t want me getting the wrong idea.”

 

“I would never do something like that to you, Wes. This is yours. You don’t have to bargain or give me anything. You know that, right?” Riker said, and Wesley nodded.

 

“I should have followed you, told you what was on my mind and cleared my conscience, but…you got me pretty worked up. I wasn’t very...confident in my ability to think straight.”

 

Wesley bit his lip. “Sorry.” 

 

“Don’t be. I’m glad you did.” Riker brought his arm across the back of the chair, rested it there, cupped the base of Wesley’s skull and pet the downy hairs at his nape. 

 

“You did your hair.” He noted. The careful swoop of Wesley’s chocolate tresses reminded him of a sweet serving of ice cream. “I like it. Your outfit, too. Everything. It’s like you’re back to your old self but...different, somehow.”   
  


“Better?” Wesley’s breathed, lashes fluttering at the touch. 

 

With his other hand, Riker thumbed, lazily, admiringly, across his cheekbone, down his jaw, ghosting fingertips across his petal-soft lips.

 

“Beautiful.” He said. “I should have told you that. Before you left. I think, maybe...that would have prevented some of this. Am I being presumptuous?”

 

“What’s done is done.” Wesley shrugged, smiling and scooting in, sliding over, arms circling his neck. “To borrow a phrase from you.”  

 

“So you  _ do _ listen.” With the boy in his lap again, Riker’s travelling hands picked up where they’d left off.

 

“When I feel like it.”

 

“Brat.” Riker’s teeth were bared. He gave a meaningful squeeze. “Are you listening now?” 

 

“Yes,  _ Commander _ ...” Wesley said, his whisper bridging the gap, and their mouths collided, searching and wet. 

 

~

 

In his time aboard the Enterprise, Wesley had roamed Holodeck simulations of lost civilizations, unexplored planets, entire worlds built from scratch, spun out of fevered frustrations. Anything and everything a thrill-seeking young mind could possibly conjure (without breaking  _ too _ many rules, of course.)

 

But this modest little cabin had transported him to a higher realm of sensation. The rich scent and toasted glow of firewood, the creak of old wood beneath their feet, an area rug tickling the flesh where his shirt had hitched up high. Riker had pressed him there on the ground, laid out in front of a fire, tugged him level, took his mouth again. An orchestra of creatures chirped and chattered faintly through the windows.

 

All of it was as real as anything could be. He wondered if Riker had special access to extra-sensory codes, a psychotropic airborne mist, of some kind... 

 

A throaty laugh escaped Wesley’s swollen mouth, as the older man, between his legs, peppered kisses down his neck. 

 

“Commander...is this allowed in here?” He panted.

 

“….Technically? No.” Wesley could feel the voice rumble, strained and aroused. His palms smoothed up and down hs sides, reluctant to leave.

“I used override codes...does that make you uncomfortable?” He asked, sincerely.

 

Wesley smiled up, his face glowing.

  
  


“Do I look uncomfortable to you?” He pulled Riker close, and they kissed again, open-mouthed and starved. Wesley poured everything he had into it, determined to prove that he wanted this and nothing about it gave him pause, not even those familiar,  _ forbidden  _ things that he secretly missed and wanted to recapture.

 

He pulled off his own shirt, tore off Riker’s, arched against him. Riker, encouraged, devoured his mouth and clasped his hips, and Wesley hoped that meant his reservations had been squashed for good. 

 

Riker made love the way he did everything; with dedication, care, and  _ style _ . Roberts, by contrast, had passion, moments that could only be described as  _ consumed _ , but he was always on his way, in the middle of,  _ sorry sweetheart _ , too busy to ever promise him a whole day or evening.

 

Finishing what Wesley had started, the Commander removed their clothing slowly, one article at a time. Skilled, weathered hands spent a sweet eternity memorizing every dip and angle of the lithe, young body. He mouthed along his collarbone and chest, nipped at his quivering white stomach. 

Wesley clutched at Riker’s muscled back, crying out, feeling every inch and pound of their physical differences. 

 

He noted that the Commander’s masculine build was very similar to the Professor’s; wide hands, an authoritative jaw, bitingly cool eyes and handsomely furred from head to toe. Both men were thick around the chest, with a waist that tapered perfectly to fit Wesley’s slim, begging thighs. 

 

But Riker’s kisses were different, his hands and the language they spoke to his body were different. More wondering, more reverent, like it was all very new and special. He laughed, and smiled, took many moments to just stop and hold Wesley and look at him. 

 

Riker was second in command of a Galaxy Class Starship, always on call, and the weight of that responsibility never left his shoulders. He had, arguably, a life three times as strenuous as Professor Roberts, for all his polished trophies and degrees. But for Wesley, it was clear, Riker had all the time in the world, and always had.

 

“You look awfully pleased with yourself.” Wesley observed, when Riker crawled back up. 

 

“Just admiring my handiwork. The carpet against your skin...and the wood underneath, dark and rich like your hair. I knew you’d look amazing in here.” He said, and Wesley blushed, hardly believing that someone could make sensuality so tactical, planned and precise and still be romantic.

 

“I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me, or the Holodeck.” 

 

“You. Most definitely.” Riker said.

 

He’d waited a long time to experience one of Commander WIlliam Riker’s patented lines of seduction. And it did not disappoint. If he hadn’t been ready for three years now, that would have sold it.

 

“I think...I could live here.” Wesley said. “Never come back.”

 

“For a while, we can.” 

 

_ And then….. _ thought Wesley, disappointed, but the prospect of starting over didn’t feel so gut-wrenching and undignified anymore. Not with Commander Riker guiding him and believing in him, not when he had this to look forward to.

 

Teeth scraping his bottom lip, he panted hard as one of those great, capable hands clasped their arousals together and began a slow and steady rhythm, designed to bring them both to the edge. Wesley trembled and moaned, ready for more, let the Commander spread his legs wide, exposing his tightly drawn sac and furled, twitching center.

 

“Is this okay?” Riker asked, and Wesley nodded, swallowing. 

 

He offered Wesley his own legs, which he took and bent in supplication. Riker made a low sound of approval in his throat, bit each of Wesley’s pale cheeks, drew a flat, wide strip down his perineum and growled again, spread his ass and watched the pale flesh wink and give way to something darker, more decadent. Wesley’s head dropped, mouth fell open, and he whispered  _ please _ , and then Riker’s mouth was on him. 

 

Wesley shook and flowered right open, wiggled like a fish, but Riker’s hold was firm and Wesley was so slight, so he folded him, ate him, and weathered every buck and tremble. There was a rasping shout, muffled by the thighs clamped around his ears, and then pretty, young Wesley Crusher was fluttering open and coming on his tongue, crying out his name.

 

Riker found Wesley’s lips again and held him steady through his climax.  His throbbing length leapt at the sight of the boy so sensitive and undone. 

 

“Ready, Ensign?” He asked, throwing those legs around his waist, and Wesley nodded, gasped, as the slick head of Riker’s cock nudged his hole. 

 

“O-oh, Commander….” He stilled, then relaxed, remembering what to do. 

 

Riker inched forward, and Wesley surrendered beautifully, making sounds he’d never forget. The boy really knew how to take it, knew what he wanted and  _ how _ he wanted it. 

 

“Right... _ there _ ! Oh…” Riker found that spongy trigger inside him, taking pride in this particular area of sexual finesse. Wesley having a small, perky little ass and legs up to his ears didn’t hurt, either.

 

Seated halfway, snug, he paused. There they were, floating through space, in a simulated room that was really just a whole bunch of nothing, just recirculated air and a glossy layer of technology, deceiving the transmission between eye and brain. 

 

What was real?

 

_ This _ was real. This beautiful boy, warm and alive, sweat-slick and so eager. Real soft, real pretty, blushed and pale and boyishly handsome and  _ hard _ in all the right places. 

 

Wesley wiggled and pushed back, made an offended sound, and Riker’s laugh was breathless.  

 

“So impatient.” He slapped Wesley’s ass, making him yelp. He raised to his knees and lifted Wesley with him, forcing his narrow pelvis off the floor and sneaking further inside. 

 

At this angle, the pressure against his prostate was constant, the friction was electrifying. Wesley’s back arched, only his shoulders touched the ground as a series of jabbing thrusts screwed him inside out. He cried out sharply. Commander Riker was so  _ good _ at this. He played Wesley like his prized trombone, knew what sequence of buttons to push, the pressure to apply, the rhythm of intake and outtake that would make the boy a musical thing. 

 

Satisfied coos gave way to plaintive gasps as Riker dragged out of him, turned Wesley on his side, lifted one leg up and entered him swiftly from behind. Swallowing Wesley’s cry, kissing him soundly, he reached for the boy’s erection and thumbed the crown, enclosed the shaft in his palm.

 

Wesley was delirious now, the stimulation was relentless. Riker was unfairly talented at this, he thought, certain that he wouldn’t last very long. Riker’s hand had moved to toy with his balls and press beneath them, lower, tracing the hot slick flesh where their bodies connected. And then it was Riker’s turn to groan. 

 

“Fuck…you’re incredible.” The Commander bit out, held Wesley tight, and thrust as deep as he could go, felt the flesh on his fingertips quiver and flex. “Going to come in here.” He said. “You want that?”

 

“Uh-huh....” Wesley garbled back, incoherent, his prick throbbing, hole tensing as his second orgasm built and splattered into Riker’s hand and against his own stomach and chest. Riker was not far along. He came with a hoarse, surprised sound.

 

“... _ wow _ .” The Commander was breathless,  _ actually breathless _ , and Wesley felt a burst of pride. 

 

His grin was lopsided and tender as he reached for Wesley, rolled him against his chest and shared another kiss (the best one so far, in Wesley’s estimation.)

 

“Good?” Wesley asked.  

 

“Good? I can’t wait until we do it again.” Riker said, smoothing errant locks of hair from Wesley’s face.

 

Wesley squirmed, looked hopeful and ready, but Riker shook his head.

 

“But first, work.” Another smack to Wesley’s ass and a deep, rewarding kiss.”I want to see you in that sexy uniform again, Ensign. And then get you out of it.”

  
“Aye,  _ sir _ .” Wesley laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

_ Two months later… _

 

Commander Riker slouched against one arm, stroked his beard and stared into space. 

 

He wanted action,  _ something _ , an end to this awful, impotent waiting game. Though, a conflict of any severity bordered on delusional, as the Enterprise was simply idling around within the Earth’s comfortable orbit. 

 

Currently, Riker had control of the bridge, but little else, existentially speaking.

 

Wesley had chosen  _ Captain Picard _ to accompany him to the Academy and sit alongside him as he testified, came clean about  _ everything,  _ and pled his case for readmittance. An important role, which he assumed would be reserved for his mentor, and lover, but the boy had made it perfectly clear that he wanted to keep the Commander out of it. Despite all of his reasoned arguments, the possibility of revealing the nature of their relationship, and the damning reality that Riker didn’t report Professor Roberts when he should have, it felt wrong not to be there. Down to his core, wrong.

 

If two months had shown Riker anything, empirically, it was that he belonged at Wesley’s side, offering strength and comfort. He was a physical man, direct to a fault, with a “hands-on” philosophy to life. And in the case of Ensign Wesley Crusher, he preferred a  _ very _ hands-on approach.

 

_ “You’ll be a distraction.” The boy had said, unswayed by the terribly romantic stretch of pristine, golden beach Riker had conjured, the delicate kisses walking down his neck, knowing perfectly well what this was all about.   _

 

_ “A distraction?” Riker returned, with poorly feigned dismay. He pulled the boy closer, sucked on his earlobe, as a gull screeched overhead and the sun began to dip toward the horizon, right on time. _

 

_ But Wesley had learned a few tricks of his own. His eyes were melted chocolate and he offered his own mouth like a sweet confection to ease the sting of a painful shot. _

 

_ “I could get you in a lot of trouble, Commander...” He explained, his voice dripping and apologetic, while his talented hand found Riker’s growing bulge and squeezed.  _

 

_ Riker gritted out a deep laugh. _

 

_ “Too late for that.”  _

 

_ In no time at all, Riker was buried deep inside the younger man, and neither one of them could make the other do a damn thing; an old, familiar ceasefire. Wesley’s lean body was warm and wet and salty beneath his, fine-boned and pretty but growing healthier and stronger by the day, flesh glinting with diamonds of sand.  _

 

_ As his pleasure heightened, Wesley’s body clenched and yielded, the foamy waves reached a crescendo, drowning out his cries with every tumble. Heated, with an animal noise that carried above the tide, Wesley rolled atop the older man, arched sensually, palms braced against his solid pectorals, and sank down on Riker’s thick length. His weeping, rosey cock was heavy against Riker’s stomach. Large hands fell upon the bony cradle of his hips and Wesley threw his pelvis into a steady, natural rhythm.  _

 

_ The sight of Wesley twisting, gasping and finding pleasure on his cock was all it took. Completing together, Wesley dismounted, and they lay beside each other. The “ocean,” had calmed, curiously, and now beat gently against the shore. _

 

_ “I really want to come.” Riker said. _

 

_ “You just did.”  _

 

_ “You know what I mean.” Riker turned to him, taking his face. “I wanted you to testify all this time…I pushed you to do this-” _

 

_ “You didn’t push me.” _

 

_ “I should be there to support you.” Riker insisted. _

 

_ “You will.” Wesley said, winding his fingers through Riker’s beard, chilled by the sincerity in his eyes.  “All that annoying advice of yours, ringing in my ears. It never goes away.” _

 

_ “Not exactly the same, but that’s good to hear.”  _

 

_ “I worry about what he could do to someone else.”  _

 

_ Riker softened, decided to stop insisting, for now. He brushed a bit of sand off Wesley’s cheek, realizing that half of it was part of him and belonged there. He wondered, if they lived on Earth, if the sun’s caress would bring even more of those cute freckles to the surface, if he’d tan, what kind of fresh-made meals he would like. Not just replicated food, not just on special occasions, but every day. What he’d choose to do with his life if Starfleet never existed. If he’d want to be with Riker at all. _

 

_ He wondered about a lot of things lately. _

 

_ “Like what he did to you?” _

 

_ Wesley leaned into the touch, his eyes remained troubled, but certain.  _

 

_ “He’s not stupid. The risks are pretty obvious, now, don’t you think?” _

 

_ “Doesn’t stop us.” Riker pointed out, and they both knew it to be true. “I wouldn’t write it off so quickly...our ability to push aside reason when you want something so badly.” _

 

_ “I guess…” _

 

_ “What was it, then?” _

 

_ “He showed me another cadet’s paper….that’s a big deal, to me. His comments were so cruel. If a student is doing badly, you don’t... talk about them the way he did, like they’re a lost cause, like they have no right to be there.” _

 

_ Wesley’s eyes were burning, intense. That flame that stirred the older man so powerfully. Riker was careful, as he always was, to word things in a way that allowed Wesley to come to his own conclusions.  _

 

_ “So...the welfare of other people changed your mind? Even if it leaves you worse off than you were before? ” _

 

_ Wesley shrugged. “They might never let me back after this. Funny, isn’t it? Considering how nasty everyone was to me. But that’s how I feel.” _

 

_ Riker brought Wesley against his chest, kissed the top of his damp, wavy hair, and officially dropped the subject.  _

 

_ “You’re going to make a damn fine leader some day, Wesley Crusher.” _

 

He wondered how Wesley must be feeling now, speaking in front of the board, telling perfect strangers his intimate secrets with that man in the room, likely glaring, willing him to shrivel with humiliation and retract his claims. 

 

But Wesley was stronger than that. Riker knew he was. It was his primary goal, these past weeks, to ensure that the young man knew his worth and his strength and his decision to come forward at his own expense was proof that he’d reached that goal.

 

Wesley was right. There was no  _ real _ need for Riker to be there. He simply missed him, and wanted to be by his side. But that was reason enough.

 

“Data, you have the bridge.”

 

“Commander?”

 

“There’s something I need to take care of on the surface.” 

 

“Very good, sir.” 

 

~

 

Riker had always looked forward to visits to his beloved home turf, especially when the occasion called upon him to roam the halls of his old alma mater, relive all of the excitement, and reflect on what he’d accomplished since graduating.

 

Between Wesley’s starry-eyed illusions, and his own sobering tales of caution, like many things, the actual truth fell somewhere in the middle. He had been a cocky, popular young man, with many friends and hobbies to help him blow off steam, better-than-decent grades, and plenty of charm to see him through most sticky situations. They were, by all accounts,  _ good times _ and he’d always looked upon the institution with fondness, but he realized now how naive he’d been, how dramatically different it could have turned out if he’d been more like Wesley Crusher, more cerebral and tender. 

 

Now, that first glimpse of the sprawling gardens that circled the campus grounds, the shining windowpanes and gushing fountains, brought on a wholly different emotion, a boiling and frustrated sickness.

 

All he could think about was Professor Roberts, using his poisonous words and his power to prey on the young man, and how he could use that same intimidation during the trial. Wesley had made improvements these past two months, but not very long ago, he ghosted through these same halls, bullied and alone, eyes cemented to the ground, overwhelmed with shame.

 

Riker did not linger, or walk around and catch up with friends, as he usually did. He strode toward the conference wing, established clearance with the guard stationed there and found himself amidst a small crowd who appeared to have just departed from a meeting. Their voices were hushed and he could not make out what they were saying, but their tones were grave, some sad, some disgusted. It did not bode well, and Riker felt his heart sink, felt guilty for not coming sooner. His footsteps hastened, he had to find Wesley. 

 

Further ahead, were the crowd had broken up to move on, two men stood. It was Wesley and Jean-Luc.

 

Wesley was grinning from ear-to-ear, and Jean-Luc had his own knowing smile, that quickly turned to a look of sputtering shock, as the young man broke decorum and gave the captain a full-bodied hug. Riker met them, just as Jean-Luc was issuing a flustered “You’re welcome, Mr. Crusher.”

 

“Commander!” Wesley was beaming. And Riker was treated to the same display of affection. He was practically bouncing when he continued, his words poured out in a flurry.

 

“Guess what!” He said. “I’m suspended for five years!”

 

Picard adjusted the bottom of his uniform jacket, composed himself in time to clap a bewildered Riker on the shoulder.

 

“Believe it or not, Number One, this is good news.” 

 

“How, exactly-” 

 

“Just as I’d thought, the committee found Professor Robert’s actions reprehensible, and concluded that an arrangement should be made for Mr. Crusher. Neither punishment nor compensation, a bit tricky, you understand. Luckily, we came prepared. I laid out my proposal to offer prerequisites aboard the Enterprise and provide status updates on his behavioral progress along the way. They were agreeable, and might I say relieved, to relinquish duty to the Enterprise.” He explained all of this, as if it were just another diplomatic success among the thousands of others he’d made. Wesley was right in insisting that Picard advocate for him, and Riker felt a bit short-sighted and silly, in retrospect.

 

“But in five years, he’s allowed to return?” He wanted to make sure he heard right.

 

“Two years of practicum study, using a combination of certified trainers aboard the ship as well as distance study.” Said Picard. “An additional three as Ensign. If he is academically, and emotionally ready, the remaining terms will be completed on campus.”

 

“When I’m finished there, I’ll already qualify for Lieutenant.” Added Wesley.

 

“Right out of the Academy? Outstanding.” Riker said, and paused. “And what about...” 

 

“Terminated.” Picard assured. “Barred from any position in Starfleet, indefinitely.” 

 

Riker nodded, thankful he hadn’t jumped to a rash response two months ago. Justice had been served, neatly and decisively. He could not wait to enjoy this victory, alone with his young lover, and luckily, Picard was unknowingly ready to facilitate that. The Captain glanced down the corridor.

 

“Now,  before I go, I must obtain some documentation for your internship... “

 

“Should I come?” Wesley asked. 

 

“No need. I’d rather you tie up any loose ends here...or simply enjoy the afternoon.” The Captain placed a hand on the Ensign’s shoulder, and squeezed, and his smile reached his crinkling eyes.

 

“Take it in, and remember it well. Pay your dues. You will be back here soon enough, Mr. Crusher.” 

 

“Thank you, sir.” Wesley said. “For everything.” 

 

“Thank you for being honest with me. You handled yourself very admirably today. It won’t be easy...no path that strays from the norm ever is….I have no doubt of your courage, but do remember, I am always here if you need to talk.” 

 

“I will, sir.”

 

“As will Commander Riker. Number one.” Picard turned to Riker. “You’ll keep an eye on your charge? Make sure he doesn’t get into anymore trouble?”

 

“A tall order.” Riker’s smile was too knowing, too flustering. Wesley groaned, and lowered his eyes, but smiled all the same. Between Picard’s rare flattery and Riker’s teasing, he was beside himself. “I think I’m up to it. Five years, Ensign. Start the clock.”

 

“Very good.” The Captain gave one last, firm nod and left the two to their own devices. 

 

Once out of earshot, Riker whistled, impressed. 

 

“High praise, Crusher.”

 

“I was pretty awesome in there.” Wesley preened. 

 

Riker nudged him. “I’m sure you were. Walk with me?” Wesley nodded, and they began to stroll. Riker fought the urge to hold his hand.

 

“You don’t seem surprised that I handled myself without you.”

 

“I never doubted you.” Riker said, and Wesley opened his mouth to correct him, and cite the dozens of times he argued against staying behind, but the older man clarified. “I doubted  _ myself _ , never you. I’m not...very good at standing aside.”

 

“I’ll say.” Wesley teased. “I thought I told you to stay on the bridge.” He peered around as they walked, and sighed.

 

“What do you think about when you’re here? Do you have good memories?”

 

“Mostly, yeah.”

 

“Can I borrow them?” Wesley asked. “Until I make some of my own.”

 

“You mean my shameless, sexual escapades.” Riker asked.

 

Wesley bit his lip, nodded. “Those too.”

 

“Well, I  _ guess   _ you’re adult enough to hear all the sordid details now...”

 

“Or..” Wesley sidled over those few inches, almost touching. His eyes were wide and deceptively modest. His voice was quiet, conspiring, Riker hunched in beside him. “Why just tell me the stories when you can  _ show _ me.” 

 

The Commander's loins tightened. Luckily, his memory was sharp, and an unconscious, primal instinct filled in the blanks. They found an empty facility, used for an off-season sport Wesley had never heard of before, but of course Riker was marvelous at in school. The Ensign listened to him reminisce as they kissed and undressed, excited by the thought of Commander Riker sweaty and running about, hefting and throwing things and tackling other men. 

 

Riled by these savage images, Wesley begged to be taken. Behind dusty, half-folded bleachers, Riker knelt behind Wesley’s body, pert ass in the air, hands clawing the plastic-covered floor mat beneath them, beautiful and open for him.  

 

He drew spit-slickened fingers in and out of the boy’s hole, fanning over the prominent bumps of his spine, his ribs, his belly, with the other hand, listening to him try, and fail, to stay quiet.

 

“Please, Commander…” 

 

Riker removed his fingers and turned the boy over, kissed him very softly, and instead of taking him began to flick and tease the rim of his heated center with the tip of his throbbing length. Wesley gasped at the excruciatingly intimate caress, wiggled and pressed back.

 

“No,” Wesley insisted. “Want  _ you _ .”

 

“You have me.” The older man soothed. Wesley sighed, contented, head lolling back as Commander Riker finally pressed inside him.

 

He’d only last two minutes, if that. But they had five more days on Earth. Five more years on the Enterprise. 

 

Scooped up in Riker’s arms, afterward, Wesley sleepily calculated the days, the hours.

 

“Thirty-five thousand….sixty-four.”

 

“Hmm?” Riker’s voice, buried against the back of his neck, sounded barely awake.

 

“Nothing.” Wesley smiled. 

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment and let me know what you think.


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